Les Félicités
by ImaginationCreation44
Summary: Enjolras & Courfeyrac were childhood best friends, but what happens when the beautiful yet mysterious Clara enters their lives? The three are forced to meet Grantaire under the most dire circumstances, and from then on their lives are a mixture of happiness, laughter, pain, and loss, but they make a pledge to remain together. Other characters join them in their story to Félicités
1. Enjolras and Courfeyrac

**Enjorlas and Courfeyrac **

Enjorlas had never been out of the confides of District 2. In his short life he had lived blissfully unaware of the poverty and hardship endured by those living in the outlying districts, and until his visit with his parents, had barely known of their existence.

Enjorlas was a 5 year old from an extremely wealthy family from the wealthiest district, as close to the Capitol as you can get. In fact, his father was the ambassador for District 2, and so Enjorlas' childhood had been filled with visits to the Capitol, its wealth, extravagance and general prosperity.

Even as a child, Enjorlas was highly intelligent, and he remembered these visits as clearly as his young mind experienced them. However, his first visit to District 12 was the one he would never forget.

Part of his father's job was visiting other districts, and reporting back to the District 2 council. Being a well-known public figure, Enjorlas' father had gained the reputation of a family man, and while this could not be further from the truth, his wife and son often accompanied him on his trips, to keep up the façade. Nothing was as repulsive to Enjorlas Sr, than the people and way of life in District 12. He was a very proud man, and had been raised in District 2, taking over the role of ambassador from his father. He was cold and distant, and saw his son as a loyal subject, with which he could extend his influence, rather than his loving child. Thank the Lord; thought Enjorlas Sr, he was not burdened with a daughter, from which absolutely nothing good could come. But Enjorlas could sing his praises in the Justice Building, make friends with the future of District 2's government, and eventually join through marriage two powerful households of District 2. Only then, thought Enjorlas Sr, his son would be worth the hassle.

Such was the burden bestowed on Enjorlas at such a young age. Although not yet old enough to fully comprehend these 'responsibilities', he knew his father had very high expectations of him, and still seeing his father as a hero, as many children do, he wanted nothing more than to please him. Enjorlas had been desperate to do this his entire life, but as yet he had never had an affectionate word or proud glance in his life.

The relationship between Enjorlas and his father was difficult to describe but in short it was a son desperate for his father's approval, and a father refusing affection. His relationship with his mother on the other hand, was much simpler. Mrs. Enjorlas loved her son more than anything in the world and they often found comfort in each other when Enjorlas Sr was away on one of his trips or had come home after a bad day at the Justice Building, himself finding comfort in a bottle of wine. Mrs. Enjorlas knew exactly what her husband got up to out of the house, and always tried to shield Enjorlas from his activities and his bad tempers. However, she was as disrespected in her own household as a beggar would be on the streets of District 2, and she was denied the motherly relationship with Enjorlas she would have liked, as his father raised him as a gentleman from an early age, and servants carried out the majority of his raising. However, Mrs. Enjorlas knew she would put her life on the line for her son's safety, and Enjorlas looked at her with enormous amounts of respect and adoration.

As Enjorlas tailed his parents out of the train station of District 12, he immediately noticed something different. Almost everywhere else, his father was surrounded by reporters begging for a story, the whole reason his family was with him, but in District 12, the station was eerily silent, and this silence continued through the streets of the district.

As they walked, Enjorlas saw women outside their homes washing clothes in buckets of cold water, and hanging them on washing lines, but in this weather, Enjorlas wondered how they would ever get dry. There were few children about, helping their mothers and sitting on the porches playing with sticks. Worse still were those with no homes at all, who sat disconsolately at the side of the streets and came up to the Enjorlas' begging for money or scraps of food. One grabbed Enjorlas by the arm, sending him into such a panic, his mother took his hand, and his father aggressively shoved the homeless man to the ground. Enjorlas turned to look at the man with sympathy, but it was returned with a look of distaste. Enjorlas nervously tugged at the hem of his jacket, which he was coming to realize was probably worth more than a house in this town.

Enjorlas Sr, took his son's hand from his mother and pushed him behind them saying only,

'Remember the hierarchy boy.'

Enjorlas slumped along behind them, the streets upsetting him more than he could understand. Finally they reached a row of stunning houses which could fit a family of 12, but looked deserted.

'Victors Village.' Enjorlas thought grimly, where Victors from the Hunger Games would live. The Hunger Games were compulsory viewings for everyone. Enjorlas had watched them since he was 3 years old. He still did not fully understand them but he got the basics. Every district would contribute a boy and girl, between the ages of 12 and 18, to an arena where they would fight to the death.

'That could be me.' Enjorlas shuddered at the thought. He imagined himself at the reaping, surrounded by all his friends, two of whom, would face death and destruction, based on the names in that big glass bowl. District 2, being rich and prosperous had a huge number of Victors, many of whom were volunteers, trained to fight and kill. Enjorlas swore he would never be one of those people, not even if his father wanted him to be. Murder was where Enjorlas drew the line. That he could understand. Therefore, in District 2, Victor's Village was always bustling, but not here, the houses looked pristine but empty, beautiful but pointless.

A plump, middle-aged man walked, well, stumbled over to the party and introduced himself as Haymitch, District 12's only Victor. As this year was the 65th annual Hunger Games, Enjorlas was pained at the thought of how many District 12 tributes never made it home. As Haymitch and his father spoke, Enjorlas silently slipped away in an attempt to escape the sadness of the world he had walked in to. But wherever he went, the scene was the same, people struggling through a life of poverty.

Eventually he slumped down in an alleyway, putting his head in his hands, avoiding the concern that he was now lost in a District he knew nothing about. There was a noise from the darkness but Enjorlas ignored it. When he looked up, he saw three faces looking down at him, covered in dirt and living in squalor. They couldn't have been much older than him, but despite their malnutrition, Enjorlas had a feeling they were much stronger than him.

'What do we have here eh?' said one. He looked like he hadn't eaten in days, but there was a determination in his eyes Enjorlas couldn't quite place.

'Looks like we have a primo!' said another with glee. He looked similar to the first one, and Enjorlas thought they must be brothers. Primo was the name given by the outlying districts to 1 and 2, showing their lack of education as one wasn't even a prime number, but Enjorlas didn't think this was the correct time to point this out.

'That jacket you're wearing', the last one piped up, 'Looks a bit thick to me, take it off, it's warm out!' Enjorlas thought he was joking, but he looked deadly serious.

'That's a good idea,' replied the first, obviously the leader of this little gang, 'Come on boys, let's give this primo a little District 12 hospitality.' They bent down to his level, Enjorlas, defenseless, was petrified of what was to come. He closed his eyes and braced himself, then…

'Oi!' The voice sounded close, but looking around, Enjorlas couldn't find its owner, but the boys seemed to know exactly who it was.

'Stay out of this Courfeyrac! This is none of your business!' yelled out the first.

Suddenly a boy appeared from the darkness. He had curly dark hair and dark brown eyes. He wasn't muscly or particularly tall but he had a presence that struck fear into Enjorlas and his...new friends.

'If you don't walk away right now, you'll have a lot to answer for.' The gang shrank back, but Enjorlas didn't understand why. 'Setting aside the fact this boy has done you no harm..'

'He's a primo!' 'He's no business here!' 'Too rich for his own good!' the gang rebuked in unison, but Courfeyrac didn't seem to hear them.

'You take his jacket, then what? No one in the Hob would pay for it! It would take less than a minute for it to tear in the mines! And a peacekeeper would bound to want to know where it came from, and a small visiting boy battered and bruised with a missing jacket is bound to attract their attention.'

The boys looked at each other, as if this hadn't occurred to them before. Enjorlas was too astounded at this new boy's bravery and intelligence to make a sound. The gang looked to their leader.

'Alright. You make a good point. We'll leave. But don't think this is over!' That last part was pointed directly at Courfeyrac, but he didn't bat an eyelid, rather he waited until they were out of sight. He then walked over to Enjorlas, offering a hand to help him up. Enjorlas took it and once standing realised that, this boy wasn't 12 or 13 as Enjorlas expected him to be, but was the same height as Enjorlas and couldn't be more than a year older than himself, about 6 years old. At 6 he waned of 3 boys older than himself with just his words. Enjorlas wondered if he could ever possess that power.

'Courfeyrac.' The boy looked at him expectantly. Enjorlas blankly stared back. He looked amused, 'That is my name, what is yours?'

He snapped back to reality, fixed his posture and held out his hand.

'Enjorlas.' He paused. 'Thanks for…you know'

'Ahh don't worry about it. Those boys barely have a brain cell between them, anything I can do to get on the wrong side of them, in my book, can't be bad thing. Keep things interesting.'

In spite of everything, Enjorlas laughed. Courfeyrac retained his amused expression.

'I guess that sort of thing doesn't happen in district 2?' He smiled.

'Well people in District 2 are so worried about losing their brain cells that they avoid any type of confrontation or head-bashing that could compromise them. Yet they volunteer for the Hunger Games. I never really understood that.'

Courfeyrac laughed. Enjorlas had the feeling he hadn't done that in a while.

'You're alright, you are,' he concluded, 'If you happen to find yourself in District 12 again..' he paused, 'Then again, we're not really known as a holiday destination.'

There was loneliness in his eyes, and Enjorlas saw he needed a friend as badly as he did.

He glanced uncomfortably down at an old newspaper. Courfeyrac also looked at it longingly.

'I wish I could do that.' He said wistfully.

'What?'

'Read.'

Enjorlas had an idea. 'I could teach you if you'd like!'

Courfeyrac smirked, 'Why, you sticking around!?'

Enjorlas wanted to rebuke that statement, but he knew it was true. This meeting would never be repeated. He wasn't quite sure why, he'd known this boy for two minutes, but the thought made him sad.

'Oh Enjorlas, thank God!' His mother's voice. He turned and saw her at the end of the alley. Courfeyrac began to back away.

'Oh no, don't go!' Enjorlas pleaded.

'Antonin Enjorlas! Back away from that street rat!' None other than his father so sensitively put.

Enjorlas glanced back at Courfeyrac in horror, but he didn't seem to have taken offence. All he said was,

'You mum seems nice,' gave him a quick smile and disappeared into the darkness as quickly as he appeared.

Enjorlas miserably walked back to his father.

'We have much to discuss.' His father barked, Enjorlas thought he was in trouble but his mother was smiling.

'I have recently received orders from the Capitol,' he grumbled, 'to keep an eye on things here in 12, or appoint someone trustworthy who can.' His mother's smile grew wider.

'Under Haymitch's guidance, you and your mother will stay and do this duty for me. I feel this is the best place for you.'

There was a secondary meaning to that, but Enjorlas didn't care. He had a smile as wide as his mother's. He had always felt trapped in District 2, but that was one thing he didn't feel here.

Maybe he could even be friends with Courfeyrac. He already had great admiration for the boy, and thought; maybe, just maybe, they could both learn a few things.


	2. Clara and Courfeyrac

**Clara and Courfeyrac**

On the day of his arrival in District 12, Enjorlas celebrated his 6th birthday. For 2 more years Enjorlas and Courfeyrac played and worked together in the streets of District 12. Courfeyrac learnt to read, something he could otherwise have only imagine in his wildest dreams, and Enjorlas had developed into quite an articulate speaker, with a lot of practice by the electric fence to the animals beyond it.

Together Enjorlas and his mother had worked together to spend as much time in District 12 as possible. Enjorlas had never seen his mother so happy, she was free from her husband's rage and was well respected by the people, even with the occasional, 'primo' remark.

However eventually Enjorlas Sr insisted they return on his determination to turn Enjorlas into his apprentice and a gentleman, so soon after Enjorlas had turned 8, he returned to District 2.

Courfeyrac painfully felt the absence of his friend. As well as having great fun together, Enjorlas was extremely helpful in sharing the responsibilities Courfeyrac had for his family. Courfeyrac was the oldest of 4 children, and was solely responsible for all of them.

Their father had left them soon after his sister had been born. He was a traveller, one of the few people who managed to transfer from District to District, for what Courfeyrac never understood, and neither did his mother. He was a kind man who fell in love with the gentleness and caring nature of Courfeyrac's mother. However he left after deciding family life wasn't for him. To where no one knew. He had been kind enough to his children, but they always knew they were second best, he wanted to do something with his life, and that something just wasn't being a father.

Their mother was an affectionate woman, older than most but was dedicated to her role in the family. She had no other family, as her parents had died several years before Courfeyrac was born. All she could rely on were her children, and although she hated doing so, she did. She had been delighted when Courfeyrac was born and the succession of his brothers, Harry and Freddie. She loved watching her little boys running around the house, but her life was really complete with the birth of her baby girl, Posie, she had always wanted a daughter.

Family life was not easy, especially after their father left them. Money was always scarce and Courfeyrac often had to rely on his wits and intelligence to find them enough food, especially now they had a baby to look after. They were one of the poorer families in District 12, but Courfeyrac refused to let this dampen his spirit, and was immensely proud of his house and family.

Then the unthinkable happened. Posie had only been 4 months old when their mother was killed by an explosion in the mines. She had been a patrolwoman at the entrance to the mines, supervising from above ground. It didn't pay very well but there wasn't much else women could do in District 12, going down into the mines was not an option.

Their mother had been knocked unconscious by the explosion, and breathed in too much of the debris. Unable to escape from the clogged air, she suffocated.

Being on the poorer side of District 12, her body was never identified, and was buried in an unmarked grave, as were so many others whose bodies were not found or were unrecognisable after the explosion.

From that day on, Courfeyrac had been the parent of the family. He was only 6 years old, but he took on the role without complaint and had raised the family as best he could.

Posie was now 3, Freddie was 5 and Harry was 6, and Courfeyrac was parenting them at 9. They had no way of earning money so they had to be inventive. Freddie and Harry would beg on the streets or go round the houses and Courfeyrac would try to make deals promising help in exchange for money.

No one knew they were alone. If the government knew they could be separated, and Courfeyrac, his brothers and as far as Posie could understand, did not want that to happen.

He couldn't remember the last time they ate meat, Courfeyrac was often tempted to pass the electric fence, there HAD to be some food in woodlands beyond it. But, not that he would admit this to anyone he was too scared to go alone, and he would NOT put his younger brothers in danger.

Courfeyrac was saddened at his new friend's return to his old world. He was forced to fend for his family alone again, with no loyal friend by his side.

A while after Enjorlas' departure, the family was in a particularly bad state. Freddie and Harry had come down with an illness Courfeyrac desperately tried to decipher and he was really struggling trying to work out how to bring up Posie.

One day he walked nervously to the edge of District 12 and stood a distance away from the fence. He noticed some bent wires creating a gap in the fence, just big enough for him to squeeze through. He walked towards it when he caught sight of a sign, and with his new reading ability he deciphered

Electric Fence

340 Volts

Fatal

KEEP OUT

Courfeyrac wasn't sure what 340 Volts meant, but he decided nothing good. He also didn't like the look of the word fatal. Keep Out he understood all to well, but he still didn't like it.

He turned back and saw a stick lying on the ground. He picked it up, and in a moment of madness hurled it at the fence. It hit the wires and fell to the ground unharmed. For some reason this gave Courfeyrac courage.

He made his way back towards the gap and slowly, lowered his hands to the wire. He made contact. Nothing. He put one leg over. Nothing. He clambered his whole body through. Nothing. He was on the other side. Nothing.

'That electric fence is useless!' thought Courfeyrac, not that he was complaining.

He slowly made his way over the small grassland to the woods. He walked carefully trying not to make any noise.

As he entered the first row of trees he came to the decision maybe the electric fence wasn't his worst fear. He had no idea what was in these woods, but not knowing why, he pressed on. He had made it well into the woodland when he heard his first abnormal noise.

CRACK

Like someone stepping on some dead leaves. Courfeyrac froze, and for a while, nothing else happened. Courfeyrac relaxed, then again:

CRACK

The same distance away. It sounded like whatever was making the noise was struggling to move.

CRACK

Maybe a little closer? No he was kidding himself, being silly, GROW UP COURFEYRAC!

CRACK

He was just about to make a run for it when he heard a stumble and a small yelp. Then silence. Whatever it was had stopped moving.

Courfeyrac didn't know what to do, so he let his instincts take over. For some reason, he wanted to help. He didn't know what kind of animal it was, but it was obviously in pain, and Courfeyrac couldn't leave it like that, not if he could help. Anyway surely if it was injured, it couldn't hurt him, right?

Despite this logic, he picked up a large stick just in case. Well, you never know. As he got closer, he thought he could here singing. No, he was just imagining it! But the further he walked, he distinctly heard;

There is a place where no one's lost

There is a place where no one cries

Crying at all is not allowed

Not in my castle on a cloud

The words, as well as the singing voice, were hauntingly beautiful. Courfeyrac was dumbstruck. He was so distracted; he stepped on a large pile of dead leaves

Immediately, the singing stopped. A head turned and Courfeyrac was face to face with a young girl. She couldn't have been more than 6 or 7, but her eyes were filled with fear, pain and loneliness, as if she hadn't seen anyone for a very long time.

Her eyes dropped to Courfeyrac's side. Her eyes widened and quick as a flash she was up, running away and hiding behind a tree only slightly further away. Courfeyrac guessed that was as far as she could get before collapsing in pain. She ran with a heavy limp, and an exhaustion that suggested she hadn't slept properly in days.

She slumped behind the tree and peered out from behind it. Courfeyrac recognised that look, lost hope. The girl obviously thought she was in an unescapable trap. At first, he could not understand why she was so afraid of him. Then he realised he was still holding the stick. Alarmed, he dropped it immediately. This only seemed to frighten the girl more.

He had to fix this, he thought.

He put both his hands up, as if surrendering, and slowly crept towards the girl. She looked panicked, but stood her ground with a quizzical look on her face, as if she was trying to work him out.

'It's okay,' he said in a soothing voice. 'I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I was close to running away from you!'

The girl seemed to begin to smile, but this was quickly replaced with a guarded expression. That saddened Courfeyrac, as if she were denying herself the right to laugh.

'My name's Courfeyrac,' he said, this time clearly, he was gaining more confidence. 'May I ask what yours is, my lady?' Flattery was never a bad thing in Courfeyrac's book.

This time, the girl gave him a full on smile, but again this was replaced, however this time, with a look of sadness and longing. She looked as if she were remembering past times. Courfeyrac smiled back at her.

This girl will take a lot of working out, he thought to himself.

He gave her a nod of encouragement to answer his question. Nervously she rose, and stepped forward on her good foot. She said, in the smallest whisper Courfeyrac had ever heard,

'Clara.'

'Well, Clara,' he replied, 'are you lost? May I escort you home?'

Clara looked down, 'I don't have a home. Not..never mind.'

Clara began to turn away.

'Wait!' he cried. 'If you don't have a home, where are you going?'

'I….I…nowhere.' Clara replied in the same quiet, frightened voice. Courfeyrac suddenly wondered if maybe she had lost her voice, it looked as if it almost hurt her to speak.

'Well Clara,' Courfeyrac announced, 'Would you like to change your destination to my home? You took tired and ill, please don't take offence. I realise you have no reason to trust me but, please do. I would love to help you. Please?' That was ironic, Courfeyrac sounded like HE was begging. He didn't know why, but he had a desperate desire to help this young girl, she was younger than himself, but in the same way Enjorlas needed him, he now felt he needed her. She seemed as gentle as his mother, and needed taking care of. Courfeyrac was determined to be the one to do it.

Clara was facing him now, seemingly deciding. It was as if she was calculating her options, and determining the best one. For this reason, Courfeyrac decided to brand her as intelligent.

After an uncomfortable silence she said, 'You promise not to hurt me?'

'I promise not to let anyone hurt you.' He meant it completely sincerely.

With difficulty, Courfeyrac and his new friend made it home. He set her ankle so it would be easier for him to walk. He was an aspiring medic, not that a doctor was a career choice in District 12, it was down the mines, or down in the ground. That was the REAL District 12 motto.

Courfeyrac led Clara into his house and sat her down at the table, giving her what little food they had left. She ate gingerly and not much, although she looked starving, maybe she was scared to eat? Courfeyrac couldn't understand her, and that's one of the reasons he was so intrigued.

Courfeyrac also gave her a bowl of clean water and one of his mothers old hairbrushes. She began to clean her face and hands when she whispered,

'Do you have any cloth?'

Courfeyrac was confused but ran to his room and received a few pieces of cloth from his bedroom. He watched her in amazement as she worked. She wrapped her ankle methodically and carefully, until it was bandaged to perfection.

'Where did you….' He began, but Clara looked down again. The way she always did if Courfeyrac made a reference to where she came from. After she bandaged her ankle, she continued to wash herself and fix her hair.

Courfeyrac hadn't really had looked at her before, but now he stared. Her hair was a beautiful dark brown and contrasting green eyes, with a dark grey rim around the edges. As far as Courfeyrac could comprehend she was, beautiful.

Suddenly Courfeyrac was snapped back into reality.

'I hope you'll excuse me, but my brothers aren't well and I better go check on them,' he told Clara as politely as he could.

Clara looked at him quizzically, nodded her head but got up to follow him. Courfeyrac was confused, but allowed it.

Harry and Freddie were lying in their mother's old bed looking as unwell as he'd left them.

'How you doing guys?' he asked gently.

'Had better days,' replied Harry.

'Much better,' agreed Freddie

There was a silence as Courfeyrac regarded them. Then suddenly Clara spoke,

'I know this illness.' Everyone looked at her.

'It's the disease of the _miserable_,' she said with certainty. 'Do you feel like your throats on fire? Like your stomach would reject any substance? Like your brain is being squashed inside your skull?'

Harry and Freddie slowly nodded.

'Do you know how to cure it?' Courfeyrac asked.

Clara nodded, 'They need to drink plenty of water, and put this special powder into their food to fight the microbes.'

Courfeyrac had read about those in one of his books.

'Do you know where we can get this powder?'

Clara reached inside the belt of her dress, and brought out a small packet.

'Here it is. I always carried it with me. The people of my district were hit hard by this disease. I always carried it with me just in case, especially when my…' Clara tailed off. Courfeyrac decided it was better not to press her.

He quickly made some carrot soup and Clara instructed him on how to add the powder. He poured the soup into two bowls and gave them to his brothers. Clara sat on the edge of their bed, assuring them it was safe.

Harry and Freddie were sceptical at first, but they were soon won over. Clara had a certain charm to her, and you almost immediately trusted her. It seemed people warmed to her, and she made you want her to like you. And she had no idea she was doing it, that was the best part.

After the boys had finished their soup, Clara took their bowls and washed them in the sink in the kitchen. Courfeyrac joined her, drying the bowls.

He watched her carefully, thinking. The way she had said 'the people of my district'. That meant she wasn't from 12, but then from where? It would have taken her days to travel from another District, and why travel to the poorest one you could get?

They worked in comfortable silence until Posie stumbled into the room. She was smiling as she always did, with a look of innocence, Courfeyrac hoped would never go away.

'Who's that?' she pointed directly at Clara. Okay, so maybe Courfeyrac hadn't quite got round to teaching her manners yet.

Clara turned and immediately her eyes lit up. She bent down to Posie's level with a gentle smile.

'My name's Clara, I'm a friend of Courfeyrac.' Courfeyrac was not inclined to disagree. She turned towards him,

'Courfeyrac, you didn't tell me you had such a beautiful sister!'

Posie's smile grew even wider

'You know who you remind me of?' Clara asked with a cheeky grin.

Posie shook her head.

'Princess Cinderella'

Posie squealed with delight. How on earth did Clara know Cinderella was Posie's absolute hero? Courfeyrac couldn't help but smile.

'Posie, don't you think it's time you went to bed?' he urged.

'Nope,' she replied resolutely.

'Posie..' he began

'Posie,' Clara interjected, 'have you heard of another princess, a certain Sleeping Beauty?'

Posie's eyes widened. 'No? Who's she? Why is she called Sleeping Beauty?' she asked enthusiastically.

Clara laughed, at that moment Courfeyrac couldn't imagine a nicer sound.

'Well, why don't you get into bed, and I'll tell you the entire story?'

'Okay!' Posie shrieked, no exaggeration! She bounded up the stairs to her room.

'You, are incredible,' said Courfeyrac, turning to Clara. She smiled back at him.

She started towards the stairs.

'Clara?' he called after her.

'Yeah?'

'Thanks.'

'For what?'

Courfeyrac paused.

'Not sure yet. I just want you to know, your welcome to stay here for as you like. I really like having you around.' His words hung in the air.

'Seriously?' Clara eventually replied.

'Seriously,' he confirmed.

Clara rushed over and enveloped him in a hug. As best she could, she was still a little girl. For a few moments they just looked at each other.

'Clara?' Posie called from upstairs.

'Coming!' She gave Courfeyrac one last smile, and then rushed upstairs.

And for the first time since Enjorlas left, Courfeyrac felt truly happy


	3. Shocks and Returns

**Thank you slim-chance 17 and krikanalo for your reviews, it means a lot knowing someone is reading my story!**

**Shocks and Returns**

Clara was a charming young girl with a mysterious past. Even Courfeyrac, who she spent most of her time with, didn't know her whole story. For Clara, it was just too painful to talk about, she focused on moving on with her new life in District 12. It was undeniably different, but in many ways, Clara preferred it.

She had been educated by a governess at home, and so could read and write. But this was only the basis of Clara's intelligence, even as a child she showed great promise, not that her family would ever allow her to show it.

Clara and Courfeyrac were able to keep the family together. Clara raised Posie almost as her own daughter, and Harry and Freddie continually looked up to their brother.

Courfeyrac physically grew up very quickly. By the time he was 11, he easily looked old enough to trade in the Hob and in this way, Courfeyrac, with Clara's help, earned plenty of money, selling their game from over the fence.

A year after Clara's arrival, they went back into the woods, but with a new agenda. Courfeyrac had found a broken bow and quiver of arrows on the side of the street, while searching for items to sell. He brought them home and Clara fixed the bow in much the same way she fixed her ankle.

Courfeyrac wanted to sell it straight away, but Clara stopped him. She suggested they go beyond the electric fence and try hunting. Courfeyrac thought she was joking but she looked deadly serious. He also knew he could never say no to Clara.

On their first trip, they spend 2 hours searching the forest but found no animals worth hunting. They were just about to give up when a flock of birds flew over head.

Faster than Courfeyrac could comprehend, Clara raised the loaded bow and aimed upwards. A bird fell to the ground with a satisfying thud. They ran over to collect their spoils.

'Where did you learn how to do that?!' Courfeyrac asked in disbelief.

'I was taught well,' Clara replied. And that was all that was said on the subject.

Clara's guard always shot up when Courfeyrac questioned her about her past, and he thought it was not worth investigating.

From that day onwards they went to the woods almost every day. Courfeyrac was earning more money that he ever had in the past. The family was still poor but they were surviving. Courfeyrac realised that was in Clara's eyes the day he found her, despite lost hope, there was a determination to survive.

Clara and Courfeyrac taught their younger siblings to read and write, and Clara had haggled with an ex-medical peacekeeper to buy his collection of medical journals. Whenever he was at home, Courfeyrac was dead to the world reading one of them.

Courfeyrac had tried to keep in touch with Enjorlas, he wrote letters but never got a reply. After a while, he gave up, and focused on his new life with Clara.

Meanwhile, in District 2, Enjorlas had settled into a repetitive routine. He'd been forced into the belief he should be seen but not heard, and all the freedoms he had experienced in District 12 were faint memories to him now. His supposed friend had never even replied to the numerous letters he sent out.

He went back to trailing behind his father and mother visiting the Districts, but they never returned to District 12. Enjorlas had heard his father mention the Capitol thought it wasn't worth it. But one day that changed.

'Come Enjorlas,' his father had announced one breakfast time, 'the head-peacekeeper of District 12 has been called into question. We must question him and decide the best course of action.

Enjorlas supressed his delight, 'Yes Father,' he replied earnestly. He couldn't believe his luck! He hadn't seen District 12 since he was 8! His 12th birthday was only a few weeks away. His happiness subsided when he remembered the no returns from Courfeyrac. Why hadn't he replied? Had he imagined their friendship? He made a silent vow to discover what had happened to him.

He sat in silence with his father as the train came in to District 12. His father made no effort to hide the disgust he had with this place, which made Enjorlas very angry. He felt a protective instinct towards 12, maybe because it was the home of his only true friend or, that's what he had thought.

He walked behind his father has he made his way to the head peacekeeper's house. The scene was much the same, it was as if 3 hours had passed, not 3 years. Enjorlas was stunned that nothing had been done to help these people.

His father knocked on his door, but there was no answer. He sighed in agitation and looked at his pocket watch.

'Well he must be doing his rounds,' he decided. 'At least he's doing something right.'

'Father, what is that building beyond the Justice Hall?' Enjorlas asked nervously. He could have sworn he'd seen a boy with dark curly hair walk in with quite a load, and a small girl by his side.

His father seemed pleased at his interest.

'That my boy, is the centre of trade, the 'Hob' I believe the locals call it.' He said locals like one may say vermin. Shall we take a look?' His father began to walk before Enjorlas could answer. He silently followed.

Inside was incredible. The market was bustling with traders and customers. There were sounds of laughter and familiarity. Enjorlas immediately warmed to this place. All the people seemed to know each other and were at ease, as if you could go up and talk to anyone and it wouldn't seem strange or obscene, as it was thought of in District 2. And best of all, there was no hierarchy, everyone was equal. Enjorlas loved that idea.

My home could not be more different, Enjolras thought.

He scanned the room. THERE. He looked a lot older and a hell of a lot more mature but there he was, his old friend Courfeyrac. But who was that next to him? Enjorlas guessed the girl was probably about 10 years old. They were talking with the stallholder and the girl laughed. It was one of the most beautiful sounds Enjorlas had ever heard, her smile easily matched it.

Enjorlas shook the thought out of his head and focused on Courfeyrac. Unfortunately, his father followed his gaze. Suddenly he yelled across the market, claiming everybody's attention.

'Those two over there! Those children! What is that you are holding? Game?! Where did you find that? You better not have gone beyond the fence!'

The girl's smile transformed into a look of fear and this bellowing man. Courfeyrac also looked concerned, but the girl looked positively petrified.

His father started to move towards them. Enjorlas saw the stallholder mouth the word, 'Run' at Courfeyrac and his friend, advice they took only too readily. They made for the only doors, delicately running over, under, and in between stalls, as if trying not to break anything, but getting away as quickly as possible. Enjorlas noticed the locals stalling him, blocking his way, apologising, tripping him up, allowing their friends to escape. Enjorlas couldn't help but smirk, a stallholder nodded in approval. His father looked ridiculous, sweating from the 'exercise', tripping up, sometimes over nothing and continually looking for children who were no longer there.

He ran in to the town square yelling, 'VERMIN!' which achieved nothing except a few puzzled looks from the locals. He tried to regain his composure.

'Enjorlas, come, we're…' he looked around.

'Enjorlas? Where are you?' He had disappeared.

Bah! His blasted son had run off. That child would be the death of him! He always knew it!


	4. Jealousy and Confusion

**Chapter 4, read, enjoy, and review if you can!**

**Jealousy and Confusion**

Enjorlas frantically made his way through the town. He didn't want to lose Courfeyrac and so ran as fast as he could. Unfortunately the other two were faster, and he eventually stopped with the conclusion he was well and truly behind them. Nevertheless, he continued at a leisurely pace, reminiscing about his childhood years here.

Clara and Courfeyrac had consequently abandoned their game and were on their way home.

'I could've sworn I'd seen that man before,' Courfeyrac mused.

'He was horrible!' Clara exclaimed, 'How could you have seen him before?'

'I don't know, he just seemed…..familiar.'

They arrived back at the house and Courfeyrac began to make dinner. It wouldn't be much tonight as they had lost their day's earnings thanks to the grumpy old primo in the Hob.

Enjorlas' father continued to look for him, but without realising it, Enjorlas was making his way to Courfeyrac's home. He recognised the house immediately, and went to knock and the door, silently praying he was home.

Clara went to answer the door, and both were shocked.

Enjorlas quickly regained his composure, he stood up straighter and said, 'Excuse me, would you happen to know if Courfeyrac is here at present?'

He was met with a smirk, Clara had to restrain herself from laughing. There was a sense of awkwardness between them, and Enjorlas began to feel instant dislike meeting this girl up close.

'Courfeyrac is present,' she replied, mocking him. 'Whom may I say is calling?'

Enjorlas knew she was making fun of him, but something told him she was not a novice to these social conventions.

'Enjorlas. If it suits you better I could wait…..' She laughed again, just like she had in the Hob.

'Don't be silly!' Come on in,' she said, gesturing Enjorlas inside. He obliged. The smell of Courfeyrac's stew hit him almost immediately, he knew he was in the right place.

'Clara!' cried a voice from upstairs, a boy. 'Can you help me with this puzzle?'

'Coming!' she called back. She pointed to the kitchen, 'He's in there.' Then she disappeared.

Clara, Enjorlas thought, it suited her. He entered the kitchen. He looked around but couldn't see Courfeyrac. The kitchen seemed a lot cleaner from when he remembered. He figured Clara may have had something to do with that.

'Blimey, someone hasn't hit puberty yet!' Enjorlas turned.

'Courfeyrac!' he exclaimed. He could barely recognise him. He was leaner, taller and much more muscular. His curly black hair had grown long and he occasionally had to flick it out of his eyes.

'What are you doing here, old friend?' Courfeyrac asked. If it weren't for his words it would have been as if he had never been away. Enjorlas remembered the comfort and warmth he had felt in this house.

'Just..visiting. Sorry about my father by the way.'

THAT'S where Courfeyrac knew the man from.

'Don't worry about it, we can't help where we come from.' Enjorlas couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking of Clara.

'So how have you been? And why didn't you answer any of my letters? I must've sent hundreds!'

'YOUR letters? What about mine?' Courfeyrac cried, suddenly very angry.

'I didn't get any…' Enjorlas immediately knew what had happened. His father must've told the servants not to give Enjorlas any letters with the District 12 mark on it. He felt Courfeyrac's anger.

'There must have been a confusion at the post office,' said Courfeyrac half-heartedly, and went back to his cooking. He wasn't the type to stay angry, but now there was an awkwardness between them that prevented them from talking as they used to. Just as Enjolras was about to leave, Clara came in.

'If I ever see Spiderman again, it'll be too soon!' she exclaimed, and up jumped to sit on the table.

'Freddie's puzzle again?' Courfeyrac asked, clearly amused. 'You gave that to him, didn't you, Enjorlas?'

'Um….yeah.'

'Well thanks very much,' she said, turning to Enjorlas, who was very much taken aback.

'Excuse me?'

'Where's my apology? Do you have any idea what you've put me through these past 3 years?' She never broke eye contact with him and had the most menacing look on her face.

'I…..well….I'm…sorry?'

Courfeyrac broke into hysterical laughter. Clara joined him. Enjorlas envied the ease between them. His jealousy soon disguised itself as dislike for Clara.

'I'm joking,' Clara assured him. She was anxious she had offended him too much.

'Well, I'm afraid I don't see the funny side. It is quite immature of you, if you don't mind me saying.'

Clara's face fell, and she looked hurt. Enjorlas turned away, he felt bad but wasn't prepared to let his guard down.

'And another thing…' he continued.

'Enjorlas, enough,' Courfeyrac warned, instinctively walking to Clara's side. She'd gone very quiet.

'Very well. But Courfeyrac, know I'm disappointed in you. I thought you'd be above letting such riff raff in your home. Actually, such a _les miserables'_

Enjorlas knew he'd gone to far. Clara's eyes were filling with tears, but was too stunned to run away.

'Enjorlas!' Courfeyrac shouted. 'Get out of my house! How dare you insult Clara in such a way! I thought you wouldn't get so ruined by District 2, but obviously I was wrong! You're nothing more than a stuck up, obnoxious primo!'

'Better than being a _les miserable_s! You and your family!' He made for the door.

'Don't come back until you wash those District 2 atrocities off of you! If you had been like this 3 years ago I would never have been your friend. I should of let those boys take your jacket! The good it would have done them.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'The eldest? Killed in the Hunger Games last year, by one of YOUR lot!'

Enjorlas froze.

'You don't even remember his name, do you?'

He didn't.

Truly shamed, he walked out of the house, wondering if he would ever be able to face returning. But he did know one thing, he had to change, he did not like what he had become. If he were reaped in the Hunger Games this year, he was determined to die comfortable in his own skin.


	5. Reapings and Relief

**Reapings and Relief**

That year was Courfeyrac's first reaping. In District 12, the town square had a complete transformation, and all the children stood nervously in their roped off area. Their escort, Arabella, stood at the front and picked out two names. Two 16 year olds were reaped, a girl named Katya and a boy named Jem.

For this year, he was safe. 'One down, six to go!' Courfeyrac said as cheerily as he could to Clara when it was over, who was on the edge of a nervous breakdown throughout the reaping.

Shortly afterwards, Enjorlas returned again to District 12. Meeting again, both boys realised life was too short for their petty disagreements, made peace and saved their friendship.

He apologised to Clara, but there was still tension between them. Clara forgave him but it was difficult to overcome their first meeting.

Overtime however, the tension did ease, and the three of them became friends. Enjorlas went to District 12 as often as he could, his privileged position and mature looks allowed him to take any train to do so. His father paid so little attention to him he barely noticed his absence. His mother did, but chose to look away.

Enjorlas was delighted at getting his old friend back, and his trips to 12 gave him the breathing space he needed to deal with the pressure his father was putting on him, and to keep him grounded.

Enjorlas took part in the reaping in his home District the following year, and wondered how Courfeyrac could have been so calm about it.

The town square was much the same, with a few extra decorations and the building of a stage outside the Justice Building. Their escort, Relinqua stood at the front and picked out two names. Just as predicted, as soon as the names were read out, two volunteers spoke out, a 17-year-old girl named Sapphire and a 15-year-old boy named Billy.

The Games always stirred tension between the friends, as more often that not, the tributes from 12 were killed in the initial bloodbath, by a tribute from District 2 or one of the other Careers. This was a topic they tended to avoid.

However it came up in a conversation between Enjorlas and Clara. For a while their friendship had been strained. They were getting along for Courfeyrac's sake, and Enjorlas still had feelings he could not identify for the girl, but assured himself they were negative.

It was after Clara's first reaping the next year. The Games had begun, and after the bloodbath had taken place, Clara was washing up in the kitchen. Enjorlas came in to fetch a glass of water. He found himself watching her work, silently humming a song to herself.

'What is that you are singing?'

Clara nearly jumped out of her skin.

'I was singing? I didn't realise….' She tailed off, 'Sorry Monsieur.'

For as long as he could remember, Clara had insisted on calling him 'Monsieur'. For what reason he didn't know, he had more than once told her 'Enjorlas' was perfectly fine, it was what everyone else called him, but she did not seem comfortable to oblige. Nowadays he just let it pass.

'Don't be sorry, it was…nice. I don't think I've heard it before, where is it from?'

'Just….something from my past.' Enjorlas knew that was all he was going to get, like Courfeyrac, he found out Clara was not happy to talk about her childhood before she came here.

He wanted to go, but something was keeping him grounded in the kitchen, he couldn't leave.

'I'm sorry about your tributes by the way.' Both tributes from 12 were dead less than five minutes into the Games. 'Did you know them at all?'

Clara paused. 'The boy, we trade with his father in the Hob. He was so upset when his son was reaped…' Clara looked as if she were holding back tears. Enjorlas wondered if he should leave so if she wanted to cry, she could do so in peace. But he had caused this, and found himself wanting to console her.

'The Careers were out of line, killing him in that way. No parent should have to see their child die like that.' The boy was brutally cut down, the girl from 1 hacked him within an inch of his life, and even after it was clear he was dead. Enjorlas had the shuddering feeling she would make it out alive.

'No parent should have to see their child die at all. Then again, maybe some just wouldn't care.'

Enjorlas' eyes shot up, but Clara's remained fixed on something outside of the window. Although he didn't understand why Clara would say that, he understood the feeling. He often wondered whether his father cared for him at all, or was he only being raised to be his father's right hand man. Enjorlas hated the doubt he felt of his father's love, and hated the idea that someone else, someone as gentle and loveable as Clara, could have parents who treated them in such a way.

Enjorlas found himself walking towards her and stood beside her in front of the sink. He looked out of the window to see what she was staring at, and inadvertently took her hand. Clara flinched. She didn't pull away, however, and for a moment they were both just content to stand there.

That was a turning point in their friendship. There was suddenly an unspoken understanding between them, and whatever negative feelings Enjorlas had felt before, were beginning to melt away.

Eventually, Enjorlas let go of her hand and returned to the others to watch the Games. Clara continued washing up. The girl from District 1 became the Victor.

Courfeyrac's fourth reaping was particularly difficult, as Harry had turned 12 and so he also had to take part. Luckily, all the children avoided the arena, and District 1 gained another Victor, the brother of the previous Victor.

Courfeyrac refused to allow Harry to sign up for tesserae, as he had done. Clara had also signed up which had been the cause of many arguments between them. However she would not be swayed. They solemnly agreed not to allow any of the other children sign up; although there were winters they desperately needed it.

After surviving his first reaping, Harry gained confidence and started arguing he should sign up for tesserae. Clara had never seen Courfeyrac so angry, and that was the end of the matter.

No matter how many Reapings they went through, Enjorlas, Clara and Courfeyrac were always petrified when the day came about. With so many willing volunteers from his District, Enjorlas often found himself more worried for his friend's safety than for his own. Next year, both Harry and Freddie would qualify to be reaped, and little Posie was only a few years behind them.

What made matters worse, was how many times Clara and Courfeyrac's names were put in the bowl, since they signed up for tesserae. Enjorlas tried as often as he could to help them out, but he only had so much wealth at his disposal, he was still a child after all.

Despite hardships, Courfeyrac and his family survived. Enjorlas was even beginning to settle into his life in District 2. Little did they know in a few years, their lives were about to take a terrible turn.

This event was triggered by a solo trip of Clara's into the town, where she found a lonely soul, who, through no fault of their own, was to change their lives forever.


	6. Clara and Cosette

**Thanks for all the reviews guys! They really make my day :) **

**I've been told I've been spelling Enjolras wrong, and I'm really sorry about that I genuinely had no idea! But I changed it for this chapter and plan to go back and correct it in the previous ones. I hope all my other spelling are correct :P Here's Chapter 6 hope you enjoy it!**

The centre of District 12 consisted of the Justice Building, the Hob, a few market stalls and a single tavern run by some very dodgy characters. It was a place neither Courfeyrac nor Clara particularly desired to go to, but was very popular with a lot of residents. The prices weren't bad and it gave people the chance to have a drink with their mates and forget about the mine and the pressures of the Capitol.

It came at a cost though. Run by the Thénardiers, there was no telling how many of your possessions you would still own by the end of your night out. Expert pickpockets and manipulative schemers, they were the lowest of the low in the District 12 community, not that they let this stop them. They had two daughters, Eponine and Azelma, and three sons. The Thénardiers had no interest in their sons and so as soon as they were able to walk they were turned out on the street. Enjolras was shocked to learn these were the three boys he encountered on his first visit to District 12 all those years ago. The eldest, Enjolras remembered, had died in the Hunger Games and the Thénardiers didn't even care. They loved their daughters though, Eponine and Azelma were two of the most spoilt children in 12, and for this reason, weren't very popular among the children.

One day when Clara had finished trading in the Hob, just after she had turned fourteen, she noticed a third little girl sweeping outside the Thénardiers tavern. While Eponine and Azelma had dark brown hair, this girl was light blonde, darkened by dirt and dust. Intrigued, Clara went over to her.

The little girl didn't notice her approaching. The nearer Clara got the more cautious she was. She remembered what it's like to be a scared little girl and have a stranger walk up to you. Luckily for her however, her encounter had ended very well. Still a distance away from the girl, Clara bent down to her eye level. She was still intensely concentrated on her sweeping, as if her life depended on it. In a way, it did.

'Hello,' Clara said gently. The little girl looked up, she immediately stopped sweeping, but her hands tightened around the broom.

'My name's Clara,' she continued, 'What's yours?'

The little girl stared at her, but gave no answer.

Clara tried another approach. 'I haven't seen you around before? Do you like with the Thénardiers, or are you just visiting?'

At the mention of the family's name, the little girl took up her sweeping again, frantically pushing grime and dirt out of the entrance. Clara sighed, and was about to walk away, when she caught sight of a black bin liner, and noticed all the drinking bottles and food wrappers filling the streets. Wanting to help the little girl, she picked up the bag, and began collecting the litter. The little girl looked at her quizzically, but kept on sweeping. For a while they worked in silence, until Clara had collected all the rubbish and was tying up the bag.

'Where do you put the bins?' she asked, as if she had always worked at the tavern. With her eyes, Cosette motioned to an alleyway, where other bin liners were sitting piled on top of each other. Clara deposited hers and looked to see if there was anything else she could do.

'Cosette,' the little girl said, as she lay down her broom.

'Pardon?'

'My name is Cosette, I've lived with the Thénardiers for as long as I can remember, they just make me work inside out of sight. Thank you.'

It took a while for Clara to process this answer. The Thénardiers had had another child this entire time? And hidden her away as some sort of slave? Cosette said her words so dejectedly it broke Clara's heart. She thought of a time she had been in a similar situation to this child, though not quite the same.

'Are they….your parents?'

'No, they are my guardians.' Cosette gave a small smile. 'I do not know my father, but my mother is beautiful, she pays for me to stay here with her earnings from Monsieur Madeleine's workshop.'

Monsieur Madeleine had arrived in District 12 a few years ago now, shortly after the mining disaster. When he heard about the accident and the many fatherless families, he set up a textiles factory to allow the widows to earn money for their children. He had been a godsend to the people, and often went around the town offering money to the poor. He was quite wealthy now, but everyone liked him anyway. Clara had never met the man personally, but had heard many great things about him. However at the moment she was livid the Thénardiers had the nerve to treat someone else's child the way they were treating Cosette. Such rage built up inside her she had not experienced in quite a while.

'Cosette,' a gruff voice came from inside, 'Come in 'ere, we've got some more jobs for you to do. And if that streets not spankin' your in for it kid!'

Cosette's smile that had formed telling Clara about her mother faded and she looked pained and on the verge of tears. Clara made an instant decision, and sounding braver than she felt, she called back in,

'No!'

Cosette froze on the spot; she wouldn't even look at Clara. A few muffled voices came from within and Monsieur Thénardier emerged from the darkness. He was staring straight at Cosette.

'What do you mean, 'no'?' he hissed. Cosette sank to the ground as the man towered over her, she turned away her head and closed her eyes, and Clara realised she was preparing for a beating. As Monsieur Thénardier raised his hand, Clara put herself in between him and Cosette, but Thénardier noticed too late. His fist made harsh contact with the side of her head and she fell to the ground dazed, but still seeing clearly. It hadn't happened in a while, but it was not something Clara had never experienced before.

Thénardier looked incredibly confused, he was looking at Cosette as if thinking, 'I did hit her right?' Cosette was simply astounded Clara had taken the blow for her. Thénardier eventually realised what had happened.

'What did you do that for, _girl_?' he said the last word with particular disdain, 'This is no concern of yours.'

Clara stood up, and all her fear melted away as she felt blood trickle down the side of her face. This man was just a bully, and she had dealt with bullies before. She had learnt a long time ago never to give them the satisfaction.

'Actually it is my business. When you are _abusing_ little girls for no apparent reason! What right have you to hit her? What right had you to hit me!'

'If you had just stayed out of my business, your pretty little face would have gone unharmed. Run back home to your mummy, little girl and don't think about crossing me again, or there'll be hell to pay!'

'You know what?' Clara replied, 'I think I'll do just that. Coming Cosette?'

Thénardier stared at her. Cosette did the same, but with admiration.

'If you think…' Thénardier began,

'Yes.' Cosette whispered, then she paused. 'Yes!' she repeated with more confidence.

'Why you little…' Thénardier cursed.

'Cosette, do you have anything you would like to bring with you?' Clara interrupted.

Cosette nodded.

'Would you like to go and get it?'

Cosette nodded again, and she ran back inside.

Thénardier grabbed Clara aggressively by her upper arm, and pulled her closer to him, so he was spitting right in her face. 'I know you think your some kind of hero, but I think you need to be taught a lesson about putting your nose in other people's business.'

He pressed his body up against hers. In retaliation, Clara kicked him where it hurt. He let go of her and doubled over in pain. Clara backed away. Cosette emerged from the inn.

'Cosette, get behind me,' Clara said calmly. Cosette readily obeyed, she was holding a makeshift doll made up of rags.

Clara's vision focused on Thénardier. 'I'd like to say it was nice to meet you, but I think we both know who's the liar around here.' Then with her hand firmly on Cosette's shoulder, Clara turned away from the tavern.

Thénardier could only look on as his ward walked away with a girl he had never met before, but who had been brave enough to take a beating and defy his will. What on earth was he going to tell his wife?

'So,' Clara began, walking away with Cosette, 'Tell me more about your mother.'

As Cosette spoke, telling Clara how beautiful and kind and amazing her mother was, Clara's mind wandered. She hoped it was because of her head injury, but even through her concussion she knew what was in the back of her mind. Her encounter with Thénardier had brought her back to her childhood, and a time she hoped never to return to. Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted with a new concern, when she returned with Cosette, what was Courfeyrac going to say?

**Appreciate reviews but hope you appreciate the story more!**


	7. Enjolras and Clara

**Sorry this took so long to get out but I've been on holiday for two weeks so couldn't upload it! I don't want to give away too many spoilers but I'm trying to keep the outline of this story as close to Les Miserables as possible so Valjean will be making another appearance. But there will be some slight changes to the original plot. I hope that's clear but anyway read, review, enjoy!**

**Enjolras and Clara**

Clara needn't have worried, although surprised at his friend's return with a small girl clutching a collection of rags; Courfeyrac wasn't the type to turn away someone in need. Clara knew that better than anybody.

Cosette settled very easily into family life. She got on well with Harry and Freddie and played with Posie for hours on end, as they were the same age. Overall, she was a lovely addition to the family.

While Cosette was particularly fond of Clara, she was often tongue tied when Enjolras came to visit. Both Clara and Courfeyrac noticed this and often teased Enjolras about his tiny admirer. However of the many things Enjolras could do, laughing at himself wasn't one of them and in consequence avoided the little girl as much as possible. Unfortunately, this made him ever more endearing to her.

During this time, Enjolras' visits to District 12 were becoming shorter and less frequent. Clara and Courfeyrac assumed it was some attempt to dissuade Cosette, and Enjolras was happy to let them think this was the reason. The real reason was that his father was becoming more and more attentive towards him. Usually when Enjolras returned from District 12, his father wouldn't comment on his absence at all, but recently, he'd begun questioning Enjolras' movements and whereabouts at all times. Enjolras had no idea why there was this sudden interest in him, but concluded he preferred when his father couldn't have cared less where he was.

Enjolras Sr wanted his son to grow up the way he had done. With strict social hierarches and well established limits. He didn't want his son getting any ideas from friends, or even worse, girlfriends. He was not aware Enjolras had any interest in girls for now, and that he was glad about. He expected his son to wait until he could find a suitable partner for him, sooner rather than later. He was sure his son would go off gallivanting with a few girls in his time, as he had done, but he knew how to cover any mishaps up so they wouldn't be made public. Enjolras Sr did not want himself or his son involved in bad press. It would not do well for his position.

He also knew he couldn't remain in that position forever. He was getting older and many of the ambassadors from other Districts were by now passing the torch down to their sons or whomever they chose to replace them. Enjolras Sr was positive his son would follow in his footsteps to become the face of District 2 for the Capitol, and he wanted Enjolras to start building his solid reputation immediately.

In fact, Enjolras Sr became so involved in his son's life, Enjolras was not able to visit District 12 for a time of seven months. He had however, managed to send a letter to Courfeyrac explaining his absence to avoid damaging their friendship any further.

However those seven months involved some serious changes. Harry and Freddie both significantly grew to match their age, both were now taller than Clara, but Courfeyrac was still a head taller than all of them.

Courfeyrac, Harry, Freddie and Enjolras were all growing into young men. Courfeyrac's eighteenth birthday was not far away and although it meant his very last reaping, it also meant he would be going down the mines, a thought that terrified him even more than the Hunger Games. Courfeyrac was a sensitive soul who detested the idea of spending all his time in the small, dark tunnels that made up the mines. He never shared his dread with anyone else however, he was prepared to do whatever it took to give his family the best life possible.

Enjolras was now handsome by anyone's standards, with his curly blonde locks and intelligent blue eyes, it was not enough for most women to only look at him once. He became a fairly well known figure both in the Capitol and in the Districts. He spoke on his father's behalf at minor events and even attended a luncheon with President Snow, not that he ever met the man himself.

He had the perfect image. All the boys wanted to be him, and all the girls wanted to be with him. He had quite the female fan club, but Enjolras himself only had eyes for one, utterly unique individual, and was blind to any other advances, much to his father's annoyance, who whenever he tried to push a suitable match, it was thrown back in his face.

Enjolras for a long time was too naïve to understand these feelings, and so they passed as friendship. This individual of course was no other than District 12's Clara. The two had sure been on a roller coaster together, from utter disdain to awkward acquaintances for the benefit of their friend to genuine friendship and care. The three were now inseparable whenever Enjolras was around, and were always happiest in each other's company. It seemed nothing would ever change.

But for a while Enjolras and Clara had started to grow closer, and both had feelings beyond those of friendship. During the seven months Enjolras was not able to come to District 12, Clara's usual lively disposition faded, and although she tried to hide it, there was no doubt she was aching for Enjolras' company. Enjolras felt much the same.

Then, on one cold December morning, Enjolras finally managed to dodge his father's watchful eye, and had the opportunity to spend a whole day in District 12, something he had longed for each day since his last visit. He knew the way to Courfeyrac's house like the back of his hand, and the nearer he got he found his pace quickening. Cosette spotted him from the window.

'He's here! He's here!'

'Who is kiddo?' asked Courfeyrac, halfway through doing the dishes.

'Enjolras! Enjolras has come to see us!'

'You sure about that?' he questioned, but sure enough as he arrived at the window where Cosette was sitting, he saw Enjolras making his way to the front door. Courfeyrac opened the door before Enjolras had even knocked.

'Enjolras, my old chap! Where on earth have you been?' Courfeyrac embraced his oldest friend, suddenly feeling his absence from the past seven months. Courfeyrac often found his days so full as he was nearing adulthood, he didn't have time to miss his childhood playmate. But now he was here, he wondered how he ever lived without his friend from District 2.

'Imprisoned in my own mansion,' replied Enjolras with a wink. 'On the plus side the hospitality was fantastic.'

'You know it really doesn't help us to like you when you say things like, 'my own mansion,'' called a voice from upstairs. It could only be Clara's but there was something very different about her voice from what Enjolras remembered. Clara had lost her childish tone and while her voice used to be fairly high pitched, now it was much lower and more sensual, more like a woman's than a girl's.

But Enjolras could not appreciate the full measure of her newly acquired maturity until she came downstairs, and she did so in a rush. She sped down the stairs and brushed past Enjolras as if he had been there only the day before.

'Sorry, I'm already running late and I can't afford to be.' She was running around the kitchen picking up various bits of paper and pens.

'Clara's set up this sort of playgroup in the lower town,' Courfeyrac explained. The lower town was arguably the poorest place in the country. The people there lived a very dreary existence. They made up the workforce which transported the coal from the mine to the train station. Despite working as hard as anyone within the mine, they were paid next to nothing, leading to starving families wearing clothes made out of thin sheets which should have been on their bed, if they were lucky enough to have a bed. Luxuries were out of the question and poverty was rife. An uncountable number of children were living on the streets with no home and parents who had succumbed to fever or starvation.

'She basically gathers up all the children and plans activities for them to fill up the day, things like drawing, games and so on.'

'Thanks Courfeyrac, but I can speak for myself. It's just something to cheer them up. No child should have to grow up in a world where playtime is only there for those rich enough to have it. If I can help only one child, then it is worthwhile.'

And for the first time Enjolras really looked at her. Ever since he was a child he had an overwhelming desire to help those less fortunate than himself, and hated the idea that some people thought they were more important than others. He believed in a world where everyone was equal, no matter how much money they earned, who their parents were or where they lived. The very idea of numbered districts made his blood boil.

'That's…one of the most amazing things I have ever head,' he finally said.

Clara positively glowed at the compliment and smiled at Enjolras, and that's when it hit him. Clara was no longer that vulnerable little girl he had been so worried was stealing his best friend away from him. She was a young woman. Her dark brown hair flowed effortlessly with gentle curls at the bottom just above her waist and her dark eyes were as hypnotising as they had always been. Enjolras had never thought dark eyes were particularly attractive, his father's were a similar colour, but on Clara, they were perfect.

Actually, Enjolras thought, everything about Clara was perfect.

Enjolras had always been smart enough to know Clara was a pretty girl, but now there was no doubt she was the most stunning creature Enjolras had ever set his eyes on. Her playful character and caring nature simply added to her beauty. In many ways, she had the same ideals as Enjolras.

Clara too noticed how Enjolras had changed. Just like any other girl, she was instantly captivated by his gorgeous blue eyes and saw him as nothing short of faultless. But what made her different, was her vision beyond his superficial beauty. How he cared so intensely for every human being not as fortunate as himself, how it was an attitude he had created himself, and didn't have to be taught. How he had always treated her like an equal, and not inferior due to her gender or home town.

She had secretly admired him ever since their first meeting, and often felt intimidated by his dominating presence and air of awe. As she grew older, she learnt to hold her own with Enjolras, and that was something he had noticed. Clara was the only girl who never cowered before him, who always looked him straight in the eye, with the determined desire not to be looked down on or pitied.

Poor Courfeyrac felt like the most awkward third-wheel in history, as the two old aquaintances drank in the remnants of the past seven months. Courfeyrac himself was by no means inferior in looks or intelligence. With his broad shoulders and muscular build, many girls his age and older desired him as the perfect husband. Courfeyrac was District 12 through and through, thick, dark curly hair which would not be affected by time spend underground and dark eyes similar to Clara's. They could have easily been brother and sister, and in their own way, they were.

Courfeyrac was a terrible flirt, and could seduce a woman with the lowering of his voice and a few choice words. He was very popular among the ladies, and one of the most charming men in the District. It was even predicted he could become chief miner before he reached twenty, his charm and influence were so great, provided he was not reaped. But even the Capitol saw his potential, and had already insured he was safe from his final reaping. He had a powerful influence over the people of District and was very well respected, mainly for keeping his family afloat since he was nine years old.

All three friends were learning who they were going to be as they ventured towards becoming adults, and for once the future looked hopeful.

Clara eventually got to her playgroup and at once began distributing the activities for them to complete. The playgroup took place in the lower town's version of a town square, flattened over hardened mud, which was all Clara needed. The more lively children played games that involved a lot of running, in order to make their parent's lives easier, the more creative children played charades, and the quieter children were given sheets of paper and crayons and were occupied for hours. Clara was immensely proud of her work, if it were appropriate to be so, and if she just made one child smile, her day would be picture-perfect.

On this particular day, Enjolras joined Clara at playgroup. He was a big hit with all the children, each and every one loving his enthusiasm and his uncanny ability using just words and his voice to capture an audience and hold them in his power until he chose to release them. Even Clara found herself immersed in his long speeches, whether just a simple fairy story, or his desires for a better world. He was a born leader, thought Clara, as the children all dispatched to their homes or to find a warm place to spend the night. Clara's heart ached to do more, but there was only so much a poor sixteen year old was capable of.

Soon the square was empty, and Clara and Enjolras were tidying it up. Clara put all her crayons and other equipment in her satchel, and soon it was just Clara and Enjorlas left in the square.

'You were incredible today,' Clara smiled, 'I've never seen the children warm to someone so quickly.'

'I'm sure you had them the moment you entered…..the mud,' he said, looking down at their feet. At this both fell into a hopeless giggling fit.

Eventually the giggling subsided and then they were just facing each other.

'I meant what I said, you know,' Enjolras said, barely above a whisper.

'What did you say?' Clara asked. They locked eyes, and both were wondering who would be the first to break.

'That this playgroup, everything you do, it's amazing.' He pushed a lock of her dark hair behind her ear, and kept it in between his fingers, leaning his palm on her neck.

'Your amazing,' he whispered, leaning in so their faces were only centimetres apart. The word 'amazing' did not even begin to cover what he thought of Clara, but it was all he could think of for now, even he, who was to become one of the most articulate speakers of his generation. Even leaders can falter when love is at stake.

Clara had never been more scared in her entire life, but nothing on earth would have persuaded her to walk away. Their lips were just about to touch when the sound of the train was heard, jerking them both back to reality.

'Oh god, is that the time?!' exclaimed Enjolras. 'I have to get on that train!' He left Clara standing in the make-shift square as he sprinted to the station. He had left his backpack at Courfeyrac's house, but he would have to worry about that later, it was in the opposite direction and he did not have the time to collect it.

Suddenly it hit him how he had ended things with Clara, and he felt a pang of guilt. He couldn't do that to her. He turned on his heels and ran back, spotting Clara making her way out of the lower town.

'Clara!' he shouted, and thankfully she heard.

'What is it? Your train will be leaving any moment.'

'I know.' His breathing was heavy and he could barely control it, not just from the run. 'But I forgot something.'

'What?'

Enjolras knew he wanted his first kiss with Clara to be special, for her as well as for him. He also knew he couldn't rush things, he didn't want to scare Clara away, and he thought they had time. So he placed his hand on her waist and leant down to give Clara a slow, gentle kiss on the cheek. He gave her one last grin and returned to his quest for the train.

Courfeyrac, Freddie and Cosette were on the platform, with Cosette holding out his backpack and all three of them yelling,

'GO GO GO!'

And cheering as he made it onto the train. He waved them goodbye, but he couldn't stop thinking about Clara. It had only been the smallest of gestures, but it had meant so much to him. He wondered if she felt the same.

Clara also turned the other way, unable to stop herself smiling. As she was walking she caught sight of a lamppost with a flyer attached to it.

WANTED

DOMESTIC SERVANTS FROM OUTLYING DISTRICTS

WORK IN DISTRICTS 1, 2 AND 4

MAIDS AND FOOTMEN REQUIRED

CALL THIS NUMBER

+CAP 85348

SALARIES WILL BE GENEROUS

Clara could barely believe her luck, how much better could her day get! She ripped the flyer from the lamppost intending to apply. With her in work, Harry, Freddie, Cosette and Posie could finish their childhood in style. She would finally be able to share the burden with Courfeyarc and actually make a financial contribution. At last there was a way she could pay back the family she had come to think of so much as her own.

Little did she know, Clara had already payed them back in full and more, since the very day she moved in.

**Again, sorry for the wait but I hope the chapter makes up for it :)**


	8. Phone Calls and New Positions

**This is just a short filler chapter to help me introduce the next one which should be up soonish..as always enjoy!**

**Phone Calls and New Positions**

'Clara it's for you!' Cosette called from downstairs.

She went down and Cosette gave her the receiver.

'Hello?' she said.

'Hello,' came the reply, 'is this Clara Courfeyrac?'

'Speaking.'

'I believe you applied for a maid's position in District 2?'

'That's right.'

'Well, I'm pleased to inform you that you have been selected for the interview stage. I hope you'll be able to travel up here next Wednesday so I may meet you in person?'

Clara was almost too pleased to speak. Suddenly she found her voice.

'Oh thank you! Of course I'll be able to make it! May I ask your name, it only seems fair, if you know mine!'

A chuckle came from the other end of the line, 'My name is Oliver Edwards, an old servant of the family.'

'Well I am very much looking forward to meeting you Mr Edwards!'

'Oliver is perfectly fine, young lady. I have to say I'm looking forward to meeting you to, you seem a pleasant sort.'

Clara smiled to herself, her early upbringing had taught her manners of the highest excellence. She also knew it was important to make whoever you were talking to feel comfortable in your presence, and she could tell she was doing so. As Oliver's outlying District accent was beginning to come through.

'Where are you from Oliver?'

'Me? District 11 meself. Agriculture was my early calling, my family had the best apple orchard you will ever see, I assure you.'

'I have no doubt! How did you come to work in domestics?'

'Well now, me mum wanted better for me. Butler for the District 2 embassador, it's a good position.'

'It most certainly is! Your mother must be extremely proud.'

'Oh, she was. She really was. It's the best reward I can think of.'

Clara felt an enclosing pain in her chest, more specifically in her heart. But she wasn't planning to let it show. She had grown used to hiding her emotions.

'Sorry, may I ask what sort of work I would be doing?'

'Well, the new maid, I must be careful not to show bias ma'am,' she almost felt he was winking at her, 'would be lookin' after the Master's son. Cleanin' his room, washin' his clothes and such, but don't worry, he's not too much of a mess. I've known him since he was a little lad, he's a pleasant sort too.'

'I am sorry to intrude, but may I ask about the family I…the new maid would be working for?' She knew to be careful about making herself too comfortable.

'You've got fine manners, young miss. Don't sound like you're from 12 at all, what you doin' lookin' for a maid's job?'

'Long story,' she sighed.

Oliver must have sensed her discomfort and changed the subject.

'The family! Well the Master's the ambassador for District 2, as I reckon I've already let slip, but you won't be seeing too much of him. The Mistress is a lovely lady, very kind, you'll be working quite closely with her too, helpin' out the other maids. But your lad, his name's Antonin, but everyone calls him Enjolras, Antonin Enjolras.


	9. Maids and Masters

**Chapter 9: Maids and Masters**

**I'd just like to thank krikanalo for your constant support, I've really appreciated it and it means a lot, even if you are the only one reading this story! **

**This chapter will be is a series of one-shots, to mix things up a bit: **

The New Maid

'We don't need anymore staff!' Enjolras told his father on the morning of Clara's first day, not that he knew this yet.

'Enjolras, when you are running your own household, then and only then will you be able to dictate who will work in it.' Enjolras hated having so many people working for him, men and women twice or three times his age bowing and scraping to his every will. They had the butler, Mr Oliver, a housekeeper, a cook, two footmen, two housemaids, three kitchen maids and four gardeners. They were only a family of three, living in a house far too large for their needs. His father insisted this is how all the ambassadors live, and it's about time Enjolras got used to it. Wherever he ended up in the future, Enjolras was sure he would not live as he did in his childhood. Living in luxury on the backs of the poor. He was no better than them and he wasn't going to let them think he was.

As the footman took away Enjolras' breakfast plates the doorbell rang.

'That'll be her now,' said Enjolras Sr, and signalled the footman to answer the door. He set down the tray he was carrying with the dirty plates on to do so.

'What do you think you are doing?' demanded Enjolras Sr. 'Take that downstairs and THEN answer the door. She's only a maid, she can wait.' The footman nodded hurriedly and disappeared from the breakfast room. Mr Oliver then poked his head around the door.

'Shall I get that Monsieur?' he directed the question at Enjolras Sr.

'No, don't worry, I'll get it,' he replied cruelly. 'Take a guess.'

'I'll just go then,' said Mr Oliver meekly.

'Give the man a raise,' grumbled Enjolras Sr.

'Is that a promise?' Enjolras said under his breath.

'What was that son?'

But Enjolras was saved from answering by the footman's entrance with the new maid. And for probably the first time in his life, he was speechless.

Clara's First Day

'This is the laundry room where all the clean linen is stored, and it's best if you change Monsieur Enjolras' sheets every week or so. He doesn't seem to notice but his father sends Mr Oliver to check on our work regularly. He'd never land you in it but it's best not to force him to lie, in case Enjolras Sr checks himself and finds out. He does that sometimes, his house is very important to him. Says it's the mark of a good man, how he keeps his house.'

Clara, bright as she was, found it hard to keep up with Sally's tour of the Enjolras household. She had known he was well off, but had no idea of the extent of that wealth. His house was larger than the District 12 Justice Building, and one room was as large as her whole house.

Sally was Mrs Enjolras' Ladies Maid, and had been for several years. She was a plump, middle-aged woman with greying hair, but Mrs Enjolras was especially fond of her. Sally was the only real friend she had, not that she would ever let her husband know. As soon as Clara had come through the door, Sally had taken her under her wing, and gone out of her way to make sure Clara settled into her work as quickly and easily as possible. Clara couldn't begin to explain how much she appreciated the help, especially after Enjolras' face when he saw her on her first day.

The Wrong Way

Enjolras left the breakfast table without permission from his father. He rushed straight up to his bedroom and leant against the door, turning things over in his mind. Clara would be working for him, the girl he had known since childhood, the girl who deep down he felt he belonged to. Never before had their differences been so painfully emphasised. Moreover, he thought of Clara's face when he first spoke to her as her employer.

'This is Clara,' Mr Oliver announced. 'I interviewed her last week and decided she was best suited to the post. She has experience as she..'

'Yes, yes, make your speeches to someone who cares Ollie. Just get her downstairs and get her to work,' said Enjolras Sr. 'Enjolras, I assume she suits your fancy,' he added with a sickening grin.

Enjolras had looked up only long enough to recognise Clara, before he felt himself going as red as his jacket, and stared down suddenly with an apparent interest in the pattern of the tablecloth. He wanted this to be dream; it felt like a nightmare, it couldn't be a coincidence, could it? What if his father knew about his trips to District 12? What if this was some kind of twisted punishment? What if he was warning him about being with Clara? What if he was doing this to hurt him? Or worse, what if he was doing this to hurt Clara? And if he was, did that mean Clara cared for him in that way? Enjolras was shocked at his sudden superficial change of topic, and quickly pushed the thought out of his mind. He was definitely overthinking this, if his father did know about his regular excursions, he would confront him outright. He wasn't the type of man to make sly digs, or play manipulative tricks. He wasn't clever enough.

He then realised he had been quiet for a very long time, and his father was still waiting for an answer to his repellent question.

'As long as she does her job, I don't care what she looks like.' He had meant it to come out directly to highlight his father's repulsive nature, but one look at Clara's face told him it had not been received that way.

'Well, I'll take her downstairs and show her the ropes,' Mr Oliver tried to save the situation.

'Never cared about your work and never will,' Enjolras Sr announced, picking up his paper.

Mr Oliver put a hand on Clara's shoulder and led her away.

'Well, I don't know how much cop at housework she'll be,' Enjolras Sr said to his son, 'but I'll tell you this much. She ain't half a looker.'

Enjolras, able to contain his feelings no longer, raced upstairs, as far away from Clara as possible. And there he remained, unmoved by time or obligations, wondering what on earth would become of this new situation.

The Aftershock

It had been a week since Clara's arrival at the Enjolras household. She avoided Enjolras as much as possible, and so far it had been a success. As of yet they had never been alone in each other's company, and with everyone else, it was easy for both to assume their respective roles.

'Can I take that for you?' Callum walked up beside Clara. Callum was second footman of the household, and in the short time Clara had been there, the two had become great friends. Clara was making her way to Enjolras' bedroom with his clean laundry when Callum had seen her struggling with the large basket.

'Yes you can,' Clara replied decidedly, and handed over her load, which Callum took with ease.

'Is this all for our young master?' Callum asked, wondering how one young man the same age as him could have so many clothes.

'Yep, and just imagine there's more in his drawers!'

'Your kidding,' Callum said with a deadly serious face.

'You have no idea what I go through.'

'Have you forgotten that I am chief silverware polisher, as well as second footman? And you know the pride Mr Oliver holds in it, imagine if it got scratched, or heaven forbid smashed! I'm telling you, I'd take laundry detergent over polish any day.'

'Can I have that in writing? That's to go in here,' Clara took out her keys and unlocked Enjolras' bedroom door. Callum set the basket down on the bed.

'Tell you what; I don't think I'll be needing the gym today. That's slave labour, getting you to carry that,' Callum said stretching his arms.

'Yeah, I should contact my Union rep.'

'Do you have one of those?'

'I'm not even sure what it is!' Clara laughed.

'Is there anything else I can do?' Callum asked.

'No, I can take it from here. Thanks all the same,' and she gave Callum her glowing smile.

Callum knew it was his cue to leave, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it.

'How many red jackets does one person need?' Callum said, as Clara put the third one on a hanger.

'It's his signature colour, there's smart, smart causal, home wear, work clothes, night ware…'

'Night ware?'

'Okay maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration.'

Callum laughed and Clara joined him, and Callum for the first time noticed her true beauty.

'Here,' Clara said, taking a red jacket off the hanger. 'Let's see,' she brought the jacket behind Callum and he put his arms through, 'if it works on you.'

Callum and Enjolras were about the same size so it was a perfect fit. It was amazing the effect a decent jacket had on the appearance of a working class boy, Callum was a young man transformed.

'Allow me sir,' joked Clara with a curtsey and took a clothes brush from her apron pocket.

'Don't you dare,' Callum warned backing away from her, but Clara closed the distance.

'I mean it Miss Clara, stay back, I have a….cloth and I am not afraid to use…' He was cut off when he tripped on a floorboard and fell back onto the bed. Clara collapsed in laughter.

'Oh, so you think that's funny!' Callum asked, regaining his composure.

'Just a little,' Clara demonstrated a tiny gap between her thumb and index finger.

'Well you won't be laughing when..' he had taken off the jacket and raced over and wrapped it around Clara from behind. Both were in hysterical fits of laughter until Callum turned Clara round to face him, and their faces were almost touching. It's now or never, Callum thought, and went to kiss her.

But it would never be known what Clara would have done, as she caught sight of someone in the doorway. She gasped and Callum looked around, and swiftly ripped the jacket off Clara.

'Sorry Monsieur, I only meant to help Clara carry the laundry basket, but we got carried away. It was my fault, don't blame Clara,' Callum attempted to explain.

'I wasn't,' Enjolras replied coldly.

Uncertain what do next, Callum excused himself and went away. And Clara and Enjolras were alone.

'Sorry Monsieur, I'll put away this laundry and I'll be on my way.'

'Clara…'

'Actually I'll get out of your way now. I've got lots to do and I assume this can wait?'

'Of course, but…'

'Then I'll be on my way, sorry to disturb you, Monsieur.'

'Clara…'

But she was gone. Enjolras went to sit on his bed. He should have been angry that Clara and Callum were messing about in his bedroom. He should have been livid Callum was in his room at all. But he wasn't. All he could think of was how becoming Clara looked in her uniform.

Clara's First Kiss

'Callum! I need you to take up this chicken for the dinner. Hurry up! No dilly-dallying. Trust Mr Oliver to be ill today of all days!' Callum was getting an earful from the cook Mrs Greenson, as he and George were representing downstairs as they served President Snow.

He hadn't been expected by any means, Enjolras and his mother were playing cards in the lounge when Sally rushed in, and told them she saw Master Enjolras and none other than President Snow walking up the garden path.

Sally rushed away as quickly as she had rushed in, as first footman George led the two men into the lounge.

'President Snow, I'd like to introduce you to my family. My wife, and my son,' said Enjolras Sr, gesturing to each in turn. 'George, go and tell Mrs Greenson to start on dinner. The President has a busy schedule.' The President sat down next to Enjolras and started up a conversation. Enjolras Sr seized George by the arm, 'And make sure she it's a decent one, nothing like the atrocity last night, this is the President we are talking about!'

It had been a disaster zone ever since. Mrs Greenson had been in a panic and the poor kitchen maids got the worst of it. She had eventually cooked up a chicken and enough vegetables to feed the entire District 12, but it was an excellent dinner, even by the President's standards. Mrs Greenson was good at her job.

'Yes Mrs Greenson,' replied Callum as calmly as he could, taking the magnificent tray in his hands. He rushed upstairs and set it down behind the screen in the dining room, preparing to take it in.

'Hey,' Clara whispered, appearing out of nowhere. 'You okay?'

'Yeah I mean, I'm just about to serve our President and not only my job but my life's on the line!'

'Well…good luck?' Was there any other way to reply to that?

Still, Callum smiled. 'Thanks.' Clara turned to walk away but before anyone could react the household dog raced in and began taking chunks out of the chicken.

'Get out! Shoo! Away!' Callum said in hushed tones, as he could hear the President's conversation only a few metres away from him. Luckily Clara took the dog by the collar and ushered him into the lounge, but the damage was done.

'What in hell are we going to do?' Callum despaired. 'I am never getting out of this one, oh god help me.'

Callum looked so defeated it broke Clara's heart. 'Do you have a knife?'

'Yeah, to carve the chicken, why?'

'Give it here.'

With no other options, Callum gave her the knife, and Clara got to work. She carved carefully, cutting off where the dog had got its teeth into it. When she was done she stepped back.

'How does that look?'

Callum straightened and couldn't believe his eyes. Clara had carved the chicken into the rough outline of Panem.

'How did you…'

'Just go in there and see if we can save this!'

Callum picked up the chicken and laid it on the table in front of the President, nervously awaiting his reaction. The President gazed on it for a moment, then his face cracked into a smile, and then…he was laughing. A raucous, quite frankly horrible laugh in Clara's opinion, who was waiting anxiously behind the screen.

'That's genius lad! That's genius!' He carried on laughing as Callum served the chicken, bowed to the party and went back downstairs, collecting Clara on the way.

'Thank you so much, Clara! I can't believe…I just…You're just the most incredible girl I've ever met.'

And with that he leaned in to kiss her, and with no distractions, she kissed him back.

And Enjolras, sent down to pass on congratulations to the cook, could only stand there and watch.

Change

A week after the President's visit, or the dog's best meal, as Callum and Clara would remember it, Clara and Enjolras found themselves alone again.

Enjolras was studying at his desk in the late evening when Clara came in. She coughed to let him know of her presence.

'Excuse me Monsieur, I'd just like to prepare your bed for the night.'

'Um…yes…um..Do what you like.'

Clara nodded and got down to work. Enjolras always found himself tongue tied when Clara was around. Whenever he saw her, he would flashback to that image of her and Callum in the servant's hall, and every time he saw that, he felt his heart break all over again.

'So the dinner with the President went well then?' Clara said, trying to break the almost painful silence, 'It wasn't half a panic downstairs.'

'Yes, my mother and I felt much the same,' stifled Enjolras.

'I can imagine,' Clara smiled, but Enjolras forced himself to look away, he definitely couldn't handle her smile.

'Wow. You really can't stand the sight of me, can you?'

Enjolras was confused. 'Excuse me?'

'Look, I realise my working here my have shocked you into remembering how much better off you are than us…'

'Clara, that's not..'

'But there's no need to look at me as if I'm some piece of dirt you're aching to get rid of.'

'That's not…'

'And what's more you NEVER see Courfeyrac anymore. Did you even know Posie fell ill the other week?'

'Posie? Is she..'

'No you didn't, because you were too wrapped up in your own life and far too superior to…'

'Don't you dare! Just don't,' Enjolras was fuming.

'If anyone is being superior here, it's you!' he retorted.

'Excuse me?' Clara spluttered.

'You come waltzing into my house..'

'Waltzing? I'm working! You know, that thing the working class do that….'

'Clara, just listen to me for once in your life! If you think by any stretch of the imagination I am happy for people to be working for me then you are truly mistaken. You know why I wear all these red jackets? It's the symbol of revolution, and socialism, a society whereby everyone is equal. From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs. That's what I've believed in all my life, and I believe one day I will be a part of that revolution, to bring down the aristocracy and raise the poor out of poverty. Whatever my feelings may be for you they are most certainly not based on your social standing.'

Enjolras had never told anyone about why he loved the colour red so much, and had never told anyone he wanted to be a part of a revolution.

'And if you think I would judge you because of it,' he continued, 'then you really don't know me at all.'

There was a long pause between the two old friends.

'You're right. I don't. I wish I did after all these years but, we have never once spoken the truth to each other, and I've been truly horrible to you since I've started working here.'

'No, anyway besides, I gave as good as I got. I just don't think either of us ever saw this coming. I've just been going through a lot lately.'

'I know, and I haven't been sympathetic or kind to you at all. Courfeyrac always asks how you are, he has never yet got the answer he wants. I don't know why but whenever I see or think of you or talk about you I feel...'

'Feel what?'

'Too much, anger, annoyance. Emotions just boil up inside me and I express them in the wrong way. I'm sorry but that's the best I can do to describe why I am always as I am.'

'Well I don't think I'd want you any other way. I really wish I could see him, you know. And Harry and Freddie. And Posie and….Cosette.'

Clara grinned, 'She's still as hung up on you as ever, you know.'

Enjolras took a deep breath. 'I know the feeling.'

Clara's smile faded. 'Enjolras don't, please I…'

'No,' Enjolras interrupted. 'For once I'm going to tell you the truth. I think…no, I know….I'm in love with you, Clara. And I don't mind telling you anymore, I don't expect you to say it back, I just wanted you to know. I couldn't take keeping it to myself any longer.'

Clara looked down. 'I love you too.'

'You do?' Enjolras was genuinely surprised.

'Of course I do, you idiot,' she smiled. 'I just thought it would hurt too much to say it, but it actually feels okay.' Enjolras felt a surge of love rush through his body.

'Why would it hurt?'

'Because I know nothing can ever come of it. We're from two different worlds I mean,' she looked down at her uniform, 'I'm your maid!'

'That doesn't matter,' Enjolras batted it aside.

'Yes, it does,' Clara insisted, 'no matter how hard we try to ignore it. It was easier in twelve; I wasn't thinking about how much too good for me you were. Does that make sense?'

'No, but I hear what your saying, and there's no way on earth I'm…'

'Maybe in another life,' she looked down again, 'Maybe if I had made some different decisions, we could have made this work but…'

Enjolras didn't want to hear this. 'But what?'

'But we both have our lot in life, whether we chose it or not. And now, we have to grow up and live with them. And I can't wait to watch how you succeed. I'll always be thinking of you, whether you know it or not.'

'Succeed as the Capitol's puppet,' Enjolras grunted, turning away.

'Maybe,' Clara replied, walking towards him. 'Or maybe as a revolutionary. Maybe then our differences won't be as great. Whatever you believe in, I'll always be there to support you. Just promise me one thing?'

'What's that?'

'Don't change your ideals. Not for anyone. They are the noblest I have ever heard.'

Enjolras couldn't help but smile. Never before had someone even suggested they agreed with his beliefs. He now knew for certain he had someone to share them with. Even if he ached to share more with her.

'Can I just ask you one thing?' Enjolras stopped Clara as she was about to walk out.

'Of course, anything.'

'Last week I saw….you and Callum…I mean….Are you….Do you….' He assembled all his courage. 'Do you love him too?'

'I don't know,' Clara said at last, 'I guess I'm trying to find out. I certainly like him a lot but…..there's someone else I like more,' she said with a tiny smile, but it too soon faded. 'But I want..I need to forget him, otherwise I don't know what'll happen to me.'

'Forget him,' Enjolras insisted, 'I'm sure he only wants you to be happy. Whatever the cost.'

Clara smiled one last time. 'Well I've finished with your bed, I believe your dinner will be ready soon. It certainly smells great downstairs. We hope to get ourselves a few leftovers.'

'I hope you do.' Enjolras paused. 'It won't always be like this, you know.'

'Like what?'

'One day, you won't be scrapping for leftovers. One day, everyone will have their fair share. And one day, you won't be working for me. No one will be working for anyone.'

'Well until that day,' Clara curtseyed, 'Monsieur.'

'Clara.' Enjolras replied, and he watched as she left his bedroom.

**R + R if you can :)**


	10. The First and The Last

**Just another chapter here..no explanation on with the story!**

Chapter 10: The First and The Last

'Wake up sweethearts,' Clara whispered gently to the two young girls sharing a double bed.

Clara had been awake for hours on the floor beside them. She had long since given up her bed for the sake of the two children she cared for as much as any mother would care for her daughter. It had been a very restless night, with both waking up at regular intervals, pining for the comfort only Clara could offer them, and having no intention of sleeping herself, she was only too happy to help them get through the night.

There was one blissful moment just as the girls woke up when they had forgotten what this day would bring, and they sat up in their bed looking out of the window to the sunrise. Then everything came flooding back, and their hopeful, youthful faces were replaced with the fear of a child preparing to look for the monster under their bed. However, Clara was determined that this day would not bring the worst.

* * *

'I win!' exclaimed Harry, moving his counter to land perfectly on square 100. It was not a normal scene to see, a fourteen, fifteen and eighteen year old opting to play Snakes & Ladders on a chilly autumn morning, but it was one of those days when it didn't matter what the distraction was, just that it was there.

'Congratulations Harry, looks like you have the luck of the dice,' Freddie said to his older brother. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen to him if Harry were to…

Being only one year older than him, the two were as close as twins, always had been and always would be, and the thought of Freddie living without Harry was too much to bear. Freddie had matured a lot over the last few years, and grew an uncanny resemblance to Courfeyrac who both Harry and Freddie admired beyond all reason.

Courfeyrac had experienced very mixed feelings this year. Maybe because this was the last time he would have to go through this, but his real fears were only just beginning. It was his baby sister's first year, and the same fate was upon the little girl Clara had brought home just two years ago, whom Courfeyrac had grown to love as much as any of his siblings he had devoted his life to caring for.

For the first time, everything Courfeyrac loved was on the line, and there was nothing he could to protect it.

* * *

'Wake up, my darling.'

Enjolras' mother always woke him up on this day, and it was something even Enjolras Sr could more or less understand. Enjolras could never hide from his mother how scared the prospect of this day made him, but she never said anything. The only thing she could do was offer silent sympathy and support, and pray with countless other mothers their baby would be spared from this terrible fate.

Enjolras went down to breakfast where his father was sitting at the head of the table as he always did. However the atmosphere that morning was not a normal one, but not for the reason you might expect. Enjolras Sr was staring at his son with eyes full of fire and anger, and Enjolras felt his father was interrogating him without asking any questions. Mr Oliver he also noticed looked terribly uncomfortable.

'Oliver,' grunted Enjolras Sr, 'Did you carry out the task I asked of you?'

Mr Oliver looked as if he wanted to be sick, his face was as pale as paper. 'I did, sir.'

'Good, that will be all.'

Mr Oliver bowed and exited the breakfast room.

'What was that about, father?'

'You'll find out soon enough. No Enjolras has the right to keep secrets from his family.'

Enjolras would realise only too painfully the implication of that statement in the future, but for now it was just another of his father's unusual tendencies. Enjolras Sr seemed to soften when he noticed his son wouldn't touch his breakfast.

'There now son, don't worry so. You have nothing to worry about, and by this afternoon, this whole nonsense will be over and done with.'

Enjolras thought again about the deal his father had made with President Snow, he was ashamed to the fact he had agreed to it, but he had his reasons. Despite being one year younger than Courfeyrac and technically entitled to one more after this day, this was Enjolras' final reaping.

* * *

'How do I look Clara?' Cosette asked the reflection in the mirror as she put on her best dress. Clara had made it for her last birthday. It wasn't the prettiest dress or of the best quality, but it contained all of Clara's love, and that was all Cosette had ever wanted.

'Stunning,' Clara replied. 'You both do,' she added, looking over at Posie, sitting on the edge of the bed, her youth accentuated by the image of her feet not even being able to touch the floor. She was playing with her plush twin bunnies she had had all her life, which she still slept with every night, on the condition neither Clara nor Cosette would ever tell the boys.

Cosette went over to the bed and sat down next to Posie, laying her arm around her sister's shoulders. The image almost caused Clara to break down in tears, but she knew she had to be strong for their sake. She bent down in front of them, taking both of their hands.

'I have something for both of you,' she whispered, as if it were the most precious secret the girls would ever have to keep. She brought out two necklaces, each with half a heart on it, with the two fitting together perfectly. She gave one to each frightened little girl.

'These will protect you, just as you protect each other, and I protect you.'

Both girls held onto their necklace tightly, and asked Clara to clasp them at the back, which she did for each in turn.

'Do you have one too, Clara?'

'No, but neither of you worry about that, I'll be fine.'

'Promise?' both girls said in unison.

* * *

Courfeyrac saw before him two of the finest young men ever to set foot in Panem. He was so proud of his brothers, of all his family if it came to that. He had known ever since Harry's first reaping, if ever their names were to be chosen from that hideous glass bowl, Courfeyrac would volunteer to take their place. Relief flooded through him when he thought of his secret, Harry and Freddie would never, as far as he could help it, be forced into that arena.

He could do nothing to protect Posie though, nor Clara or Cosette. Courfeyrac knew Clara would do the same thing for Posie and Cosette he would do for Harry and Freddie, but unlike his conclusion, this thought did not comfort him in the slightest. How could he live without Clara in his life? Her smile, her laugh, all the happiness she brought to the entire family. If he caused her to go into the arena, protecting his sister, he would have been better off leaving her in that forest all those years ago.

'Hey, we're all going to be alright lads,' Courfeyrac attempted to comfort, taking note of their disconsolate faces. There was a long uncomfortable pause.

'We're not though, are we?' Freddie spoke up.

'The odds are not in our favour,' Harry said acceptingly.

Courfeyrac couldn't deny that, but fortunately he was saved from answering by Posie bursting in with Cosette close behind her.

'Clara's gone!' she sobbed.

* * *

'Master Enjolras?' Mr Oliver said to the young man, 'There is someone here to see you.'

'Where is that flaming footman?' came in Enjolras Sr grumbling, 'Completely useless, that's what he is, and fired if this keeps happening.'

'Master Enjolras Senior,' Mr Oliver straightened up, 'Callum is preparing for the reaping in his own district, as are the rest of the young household staff.'

'Who the hell is Callum?' was his reply.

'Who is this visitor, Mr Oliver?' Enjolras quickly interjected, before Mr Oliver said something he might regret. Mr Oliver was particularly fond of young Callum you see, being from his own District 11.

'He's waiting in the hall, he says he can't stay long.'

'Lead the way,' Enjolras tried to get a smile from the old man, sadly, he failed.

When Enjolras got to the hall he saw his visitor was Benedict Mason, a 'friend' Enjolras had met in passing.

'Hello old chap, how you doing?'

'Could be better,' Enjolras replied truthfully.

'Well I bet this will cheer you up!' insisted Benedict with a smirk.

'What?' Enjolras said with no real interest.

'Guess who's going into the arena?'

'The reaping doesn't start for another hour yet,' Enjolras replied with a frown.

'Well no boy's going to be reaped this year,' Benedict told him, obviously very excited.

'What do you mean, Benedict?' Enjorlas asked tiredly.

'I'm volunteering. The family's dead proud.'

That took a while to sink in; Enjolras would not be going into the arena.

* * *

Courfeyrac passed the electric fence and ventured into the forest, knowing full well where Clara had gone. He had supposed something like this would happen, Clara had been herself in the weeks preceding the reaping.

Of course, she was as happy as ever when the children were around, even with Harry and Freddie. It was only with Courfeyrac she felt she could express how she was feeling. She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep, all she could do was think about how those two girls, who she loved more and more with everyday that passed, would be put in the kind of horrific danger that made her want to be sick.

Over the years Clara had become the mother of the family, and with that came the burden of a mother's protective instinct, surpassing all reason to do whatever she had do to keep them safe. Courfeyrac knew this feeling all too well. He was prepared to sacrifice his own life for either one of his brothers, or his sisters, if it would help them, for Courfeyrac knew if he went into the arena he would not be coming out.

It was true he was strong and broad, but the idea of ending another persons life, no matter who they were, brought such a pain to his chest he immediately had to dismiss it. And besides, even if he was killed, his family would still have Clara, and he trusted her with their lives, he trusted her with his.

He found her exactly where he thought he would. A small clearing deep in the forest, with dark green trees all around, where the wind created dancing shadows, and the sun penetrated through gaps in the leaves to reveal a glistening lake. A pond really, but the word didn't seem poetic enough to describe the beauty of the scene. They had found this clearing one day when they were out hunting, which as of late had been the only time they had to spend together. It was only in the forest they felt they were free, and was the time they told each other everything. They had no secrets from each other, but these secrets were never spoken beyond the electric fence, out of respect for each other and out of a sense of privacy they felt they couldn't revoke.

Clara was sitting down with her back up against a tree, completely unaware of Courfeyrac's appearance. Courfeyrac took note of how beautiful she looked. She was in a black dress with a brown belt, her hair was as always falling around her face, but Courfeyrac noticed a hairclip not fulfilling its purpose buried within it. The silver 'C' necklace he had given to her years ago hung around her neck as it always did. She treasured that necklace, it was the first time Courfeyrac had told her she was a part of his family, and she would treasure that memory, and the necklace, forever.

Courfeyrac slowly approached her, and Clara looked up at him with the same eyes she had all those years ago, in their first meeting in the forest.

'I'm so scared,' she whispered.

'Me too,' Courfeyrac replied truthfully. 'But it's not going to solve anything sitting here all day is it?'

'It could do.'

'What do you mean?'

'We could run away,' Clara said, with no hint of laughter. But Courfeyrac couldn't hide his. He scoffed.

'Oh yeah, and run off until we find our perfect land of happiness, with liberty and friendship.'

'What?' Clara said amused.

Courfeyrac looked embarrassed, 'That's something Enjolras used to say, when we were boys.'

'You're still boys,' Clara said.

'We can't be, you know that better than anyone.'

'I wish I could feel that, as soon as it was over, all my worries will be gone. But they won't. There's still next year, and the year after that, and even if I do volunteer for them one year there's no guarantee…'

'You….you'd volunteer for them?'

'Of course, isn't that your master plan?' Clara tried to joke.

Courfeyrac had always known this about Clara in his heart, but to hear it out loud, to actually comprehend it, was intensely painful. He had thought to know Posie would be safe would be a huge weight off his mind, and it was, but it was replaced by an equally terrifying worry of losing Clara, his hunting partner, his best friend. His sister.

'Your right,' Clara interrupted his thoughts.

'About what?'

'Sitting here won't achieve anything. And we've got that lot back at home. They need us, both of us.'

'Yeah, they do.'

Courfeyrac stood up, and offered Clara his hand. 'May I escort you home?'

Clara took it gratefully, and they went home, to spend their last moments together as a family.

* * *

On their way home they passed a run down old house, but for District 12, it wasn't too bad. It was the home of the school's headmistress, who received a reasonable salary for her teaching, even if it was Capitol propaganda. She was a widow with a sixteen-year-old son, who on this day was getting ready for the reaping.

She watched as he leant against the wall, looking out of the window, wishing there was something she could do for him, but like so many other mothers on that day, she could do nothing but look at her son, and she could have done so until the end of time. She would never tire of her son's curly black hair, dark eyes and the way he held himself as if he were the richest and proudest man in Panem, but it wasn't out of conceit, it was out of pride for where he came from. He loved District 12, and he wasn't ashamed to say he wouldn't live anywhere else for all the gold under President Snow's bed.

Edwardo Grantaire was a quiet soul, seldom spoke unless spoken to, and preferred to sit with his mother helping her arrange classes, than go down to the tavern to meet friends. Grantaire's father had been an especially big fan of the Thénardier's tavern, going there almost every night, drinking himself into a stupor and then stumbling home expecting his wife to look after him. Grantaire knew he used to hit her, but he had only been a boy then, and far too scared and confused to come to her aid.

When he grew old enough to understand he would ask, 'Why do you stay with him, mother? Why did you marry him?' And she would reply, 'Because we can't help who we fall in love with.'

Mr Grantaire had been dead for almost three years now. He and some other drunkards from the tavern had picked a fight with a particularly riley peacekeeper, and after calling for backup, the peace-keeping force beat him to death. Grantaire had no particular hatred for the regime, he felt his father deserved it, he was well out of their lives. His mother however did not feel the same way, but she hid her grief from her son, and expressed it in other, more private ways.

Suddenly, Grantaire's serene view of the street was interrupted by two people, holding hands, walking down it. It was of one of these two passers-by, that Grantaire took particular notice. He recognised them, it was Courfeyrac and Clara from a few streets down. He had often seen them and their younger siblings around 12, and had just as often envied how happy they looked. Of course, he loved his mother, and wouldn't want to live anywhere else, but he had always yearned for a brother or a sister, someone he could play with, someone he could talk to, so life wouldn't be quite so lonely.

The old grandfather clock passed down to them from Mrs Grantaire's father warned them it was twenty to eleven, twenty minutes until the reaping started, and families were already starting to leave their houses.

Strangely, it was Courfeyrac and Clara who Grantaire was thinking about as he kissed his mother goodbye and made his way to the town square. His mother had heard that all six of them would be in the reaping this year.

Neither Grantaire nor his mother could imagine what they must be going through, it took all the willpower of Mrs Grantaire not to take her son and hide him away so that no one could ever hurt him, so that he would never be taken from her.

She was such a fragile thing, who knows what losing her pride and joy might do to her.


	11. Names and No Returns

**Chapter 11: Names and No Returns **

Grantaire was one of the first to get to the town square. He had been so anxious the past few weeks he had ended up being early for everything. Today he wasn't sure what was worse, waiting around at home or waiting around in the square. Either way the reaping wouldn't come any faster, he just wanted it to be over with. Still, he signed in and went to stand with the other boys his age.

There were only two other sixteen year olds there at that time, he recognised them vaguely from around the district. He nodded amiably but said nothing. No one waiting for the reaping would be up for a conversation. They just had to wait until everyone else arrived, and then all they could do, was hope.

* * *

'Right are we all ready to go?' Courfeyrac looked at his assembled family, his brave younger brothers and beautiful younger sisters, not long now. Courfeyrac opened the door but a man in a business suit blocked his exit. He looked very wealthy, presumably from one of the inlying districts, but what was he doing here? Courfeyrac waited for an explanation, but the man said nothing. He simply handed over a handwritten letter, and went on his way. It was addressed to Clara.

'It's for you,' he said with confusion, handing over the letter.

Clara clearly had no idea who it was from either, judging by the look on her face. She opened it, and turned very pale.

'Courfeyrac, will Enjorlas be in the reaping?' Cosette asked.

'Yes, he will, but in his own district.'

'Do you think he'll get sent into the games?' she said worriedly.

'I don't imagine so, usually district 2 has volunteers.'

'Why do people volunteer for the Games?' Posie asked with bewilderment.

'That's a very good question, Posie. Clara are you alright?'

Clara, who had looked perfectly fine before, now looked ready to feint right there and then.

'Clara?'

Suddenly, she reverted back to her old self.

'Of course I am, let's go. Come on, the sooner we get there the sooner we can come home,' she said hurriedly, but Courfeyrac noticed something in Clara's eyes that hadn't been there before.

'Right of course, we don't want to keep the Capitol waiting do we?'

* * *

'Well that turned out pretty much as I expected,' Enjolras Sr announced to the room as he returned. 'I think District 2 has a pretty good chance this year, Benedict's a fine lad, and Avalon as a certain fierceness to her. Who knows what will happen. It shall be a fine Games, two worthy Careers.'

Enjolras wasn't really listening.

'Still in shock are you? Well it can be pretty stressful, even I got anxious when I was a boy. But don't worry, you'll never have to worry about a reaping again. Your old dad's pretty amazing isn't he?'

Amazing wasn't quite the word Enjolras would use to describe is father.

'Come on, let's have a look at who they'll be up against. I don't think District 11 or 12 have completed their reaping yet.'

* * *

'Hello, and welcome to District 12's reaping!'

Everyone looked up at District 12's new escort. Their old one had been promoted to District 5, but no one was sorry to see her go. She had been replaced by a jolly looking fellow named Marcus, a typical Capitol man, who looked rather like Caesar Flickerman. But to be honest, none of the children in front of him were paying particular attention to his appearance.

'Right well, let's get straight to it. Now I know how it's supposed to go, ladies first. Of course, of course that's all very well, but I think we should shake up the tradition this year. What does everyone think?'

He was met by silence, they weren't interested in humouring him.

'Right well, I'll take that as consent. Ladies first, but gentlemen just before,' he said with a wink at the crowd. What did he think he was hosting?

'Are you ready boys?' He went over and picked a piece of paper, sealing the fate of one young man.

'Edwardo Grantaire, what a great name. Isn't it?'

Courfeyrac let out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding. Harry and Freddie did the same, but they all felt sympathy for Grantaire. He'd always been a bit of an outsider, he spent most time indoors with his mother. Everyone knew of his father antics, and of course of his death. No one knew him very well, it was unlikely that anyone apart from his mother would miss him, but this was a fate you wouldn't wish on your deadliest enemy.

He went up to the front and Marcus turned him to the crowd.

'How about a hand for this strapping young lad? Is he going to be your next victor? I think old Haymitch is getting a bit lonely, aren't you old chap?'

District 12's resident drunk shrugged with disinterest. Grantaire swallowed uneasily, he couldn't look at Haymitch without thinking of his father. He did have other things on his mind though. He looked at the relieved boys and the equally apprehensive girls, he doubted he would ever see these people again. Now he was glad he had never got to know any of them very well.

* * *

The atmosphere had changed among the teenage boys of District 12. Courfeyrac couldn't get his head around the fact that this was it. He would never have to go into the arena, he would never have to take part in a reaping again. But Harry and Freddie would, he could see them in the crowd a few rows in front of him. He could see Harry had shuffled forward slightly, to get closer to his younger brother. They were now side by side. Courfeyrac ached to be with them, but he had to wait until a girl had been reaped. Not long now, then they could all go home.

'Well now, what beauty will be accompanying you into the arena, Grantaire? Shall we find out? I remember a District 12 beauty back in my 20s, she was absolutely stunning. We met at the Justice Building when…'

And Marcus continued to tell the story of his love life to some very anxious teenage girls. Grantaire, stuck on stage for everyone to see wanted to avoid the arena by dying right there and then. That's when he caught sight of two twelve-year-olds holding hands.

* * *

'Why isn't he just picking the paper out of the bowl?' Cosette whispered to Posie.

'I don't know,' Posie replied, not raising her eyes from the floor.

'This must be the longest reaping ever,' continued Cosette. This time Posie didn't reply.

'Why does he keep saying, 'if you know what I mean'?'

'How long is this story?'

'Do you really think he left her to pursue his career?'

'When can we go home?

'I don't know Cosette!' Posie finally answered. Cosette let go of her hand.

From several rows back, Clara couldn't take her eyes off the two girls far more precious to her than her own life.

* * *

'Right, well, I guess we better get on with this.'

And suddenly Marcus looked uncomfortable, he walked over to take out the name.

'The second tribute from District 12 is….' He looked as if he was having trouble reading the writing.

'Is….she is….she's…'

'I volunteer!' a voice emerged from the crowd. Everyone turned to the direction of the voice.

Clara separated herself from the crowd of sixteen year olds. From looking ready to fall to the ground a few moments ago, to looking calm and composed now, she looked up at Marcus.

'I volunteer as tribute.'

Courfeyrac could only watch in complete shock and disbelief, as Clara and Grantaire shook hands.

And Enjolras could only listen to his father, commenting on the rarity of a volunteer from one of the outlying districts.

* * *

**Finally getting to the Games, this story is taking longer than I thought! Hope your still liking it though :p**


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